


DA039: The Faithless Mark

by Rhion



Series: KMEME Prompts [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, F/M, KMEME Prompt, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She did a strange thing for love. It was selfless. Pure. She was a healer, and thought the best thing to do was to remove that which would cause pain. Little did she know, she only made it worse. F!Surana/Zev</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, anal, toys, oral, magic as sex toy, VeryDark!Zev... ah... I think that may be it...?  
> Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue
> 
>  
> 
> AN: Um.... 0.0 I'm not too sure where this came from. :blinkblinks: It sorta hit me outta left field a few months ago when I was surfing around on kmeme. And then, I posted a prompt for it. Several people were like 'awesome, someone fill this'. Didn't get filled. I offered fic trades – cuz I didn't wanna handle this myself. Why fill one's own prompt? But here I am. Filling my own prompt.... Though someone did fill it, however I started this story shortly after I’d posted the prompt. I figured it’d just be best for me to handle it, because I can be picky about characterization finesse.  
> Then again, there is something to be said for it. Zev is OOC to some degree and yes I can hear you saying “But Rhion, Zev isn't a violent mean bastard if he loves you, so yeah that’s pretty OOC”. Yeah, well. You'll see the logic. I swear. I do swear up and down for a happy ending. I do. Really I do. I swear it upon a pile of fic that I have promised to write, and may none of my fic ever get reviewed again if I don't strangle out a happy ending from this in such a way that it's believable.

Chapter 1  
Myai (5200)  
XXX

After the Archdemon was killed – Alistair taking the final blow – Myai was left alone. Not at first, no. The others had stayed for a time, keeping an eye on her, making sure her body recovered. But they all left. One by one, trickling away. First had gone Morrigan, gone before the Archdemon even had been dealt with. Myai suspected the Witch had been hurt and couldn't stand the very thought of watching her fellow mage, sister of her heart, die. Then Alistair, swallowed up by the pillar of light, the roaring thrashing beast that consumed and bonded with his life-force snuffing him out. Sten had gone back to Seheron with his answer for the Arishok. Oghren had become Anora's general and was busy creating some order out of the Blight-induced chaos. Wynne returned to the Circle shortly after, deciding she couldn't stand Anora; Myai had thought that slightly catty, but supposed it took all kinds. 

That had left the two rogues, and then Leliana, too, was called away, by the Revered Mother no less. Probably something to do with Andraste and her ashes. It was only logical.

Zevran had been a silent shadow, remaining by her side, but distant. She had pulled away from him long before, and yet he was the one who stayed the longest. Once she was able to walk on her own, once he had been sure she would care for herself, even he had left. Myai was relieved and hurt. She didn't think she could handle more of those closed looks he gave her, like he was hiding pain. There was no way someone like her could ever mean enough to him to come near the importance that Rinna’s memory held.

Wandering around the palace, feeling like an empty ghost, Myai was startled to realize there was a messenger heading for her.

“Hero, Hero – wait! I have-- I bear--” He was a young thing, one of the Alienage's elves hired on by Anora to run messages throughout the palace, which was a never-ending task. “I have a--” he doubled over panting, holding his knees.

Myai lay a hand on him, casting a rejuvenation spell, soothing his hurried bearing how she could. “Hush now. Calm yourself. Take deep breaths. I'm sure your message for me can wait a moment for you to catch your wind.”

He gulped, nodding, eyes wide at her display of magic. Myai knew she shouldn't be surprised, people forgot that she was a mage so often, and that she was a person. Apparently 'Heroes' didn't take note of the common housestaff, didn't go to the sick houses and heal people night and day the way she did. It didn’t matter, she had to keep herself busy or go mad.

Once he was steady again, he held out something to her. “This was sent by courier, and I was told to deliver it to you, saying it was absolutely urgent.”

Myai took the small bundle and opened it. Her eyes went wide, touching the single glove, splattered with blood. “Where did the courier come from?”

“Antiva.” If he had anything else to say, Myai didn't hear it.

She was racing to her quarters, grabbing her always packed kit and the hefty purse of gold she had earned. Its weight made her sick; it was blood money. Alistair's blood. Maybe if she had made him king... but no, she wouldn't think about it. Couldn't. Dear sweet Alistair, who had come to her with professions of love, when she had been at her most confused. Who had asked to give her his virginity, not knowing he took hers, as well. He had been easy, safe, distracting. Alistair had saved her from the agony of knowing she would never be able to have the chance to heal the wounds of the one person she actually had feelings for.

But now that person, the wearer of the glove she tucked into her belt pouch, needed her, and was asking for her help. He had been the last to leave, no matter that she had probably hurt him by pulling away. No matter that it had hurt _her_ to pull away. Zevran had been so badly wounded, how could he want to try again? How could Myai try and force that on him? So, she had pulled away, set him aside, hoped he could regain his equilibrium and find numbness once more. Wouldn't he be better off that way? And he had seemed to do better, or so she thought.

Yet now he was asking for her help. She would storm Antiva and scour it, bring whoever had put him in harm’s way to their knees and crush them. Myai _did_ love him; she had figured that out once the shock of Alistair's death had hit home, once she was utterly alone in the palace. She simply had done what she thought was best and let Zevran be. But she would _destroy_ anyone who hurt him, now that he had asked for help.

Maker help them, for she wouldn't.

XXX

Woozy, Myai moaned, coughing on the acrid taste in her mouth. Rolling onto her side, she struggled to remember what had happened. Antiva. She had reached Zevran's homeland safely, after an uneventful voyage where she had fretted and stormed back and forth across the deck. She had worked on battle spells, honing them. In the past she had been a healer, letting Morrigan take the battle casting onto her capable shoulders. The captain of the _Ferelden Blade_ had eventually had to request she stop casting bolts of energy into the sea, and working general mischief. Once that had happened Myai had nothing to do but wait, pace, fret and worry.

So, on the shores of Antiva, Myai had begun her search. Taverns were scoured, street urchins were paid small coins for information. Information that was frighteningly scarce, until she had made contact with someone who said that he knew some of what was going on, that there may be a lead to Zevran.

That was the last thing she remembered, sitting in a small, dusty, dark tavern, sipping a cup of coffee – an Antivan thing that somehow she acquired a taste for. The smell of it reminded her of Zevran: warm, thick and deliciously rich. But that was then, and she was left shivering in the cold – she wasn't warm any longer.

A hand touched her bare hip, rolling her over. “You are awake. Good.”

Coughing, Myai tried to open her eyes, they felt gummy. “Zev?”

“Tchk, I told him not to give you so much.” He sounded relaxed, comfortable, and most importantly, unhurt. “My dear Warden, you must drink this.” The rim of a cup was pressed to her lips and Myai suddenly found she was _very_ thirsty. “Slowly, slowly, Myai.” Calloused fingers stroked her cheek as she drank greedily.

Once she had finished off the contents of the cup she felt much better, and was able to look up at Zevran while knuckling her eyes free of grit. “How did I get here?”

Further questions died on her lips, unspoken, when she caught sight of his expression. It was dark, menacing. Myai had never seen him direct anything like that at her. Usually it heralded a nasty end for whoever he looked at in that manner. His gold eyes were narrow, glinting, and hard as diamond, full lips thinned down to a line, jaw set. Shivering under the intensity of that look, Myai found herself backing away. She didn't get far, her back hit a wall, and the elven mage sat up, wrapping her arms around her bare chest.

“Mph, yes, how did we get here, to this situation?” He was squatting before her, still holding the cup, empty now, dangling limply in his hand. “Ah, but you know the answer to this, far better than I.”

Shaking her head, Myai drew her knees up, huddling as she professed her ignorance. “I don't understand.”

“Truly?” His head tilted, examining her, and she felt like a small bug. As if he were debating squashing her or not, grinding her under the heel of the very boots she had given him. “Then I suppose that neither of us does. But allow me to make certain things clear. I made a mistake with Rinna. I will not be repeating it with you.”

Myai's eyes went wide, incredulous. Did that mean he would kill her, to spare himself future anguish? Or did that mean he would...? She didn't know what that meant. Not at all.

“Ah, I see you think the worst of me, tchk – I should not be surprised.” With that fluid grace of his, he rose, making his way to a table that up until this point had been hidden from her view. “Death is a thing that cannot be undone, it is final. Killing you in a fit of pique would make no sense whatsoever. No matter how you have pushed me.”

“P-pushed you?” Daring to ask, hoping to distract him long enough to draw mana from the Fade. Nothing came. Shocked, Myai pulled harder, hands making passes in the air. “What have you done?!”

Frantically Myai reached for that inner wellspring, and hit a mental wall. All the while Zevran ignored her, busy at his table from which the sound of clinking came, and that made Myai terrified. Without her magic she was defenseless, without her magic she couldn't paralyze Zevran and make him _listen_. Without it... he could do anything to her he wanted. And, the man who came back over to kneel before her was not the man she knew. This man, who wore the elven assassin’s face, was all cold, hard lines, capable of anything.

A finger went to her neck, even as she flinched away, slipping between her skin and a collar she hadn't taken any note of, tugging on it once. “The Qun’ari are ingenious when it comes to dealing with their mages. This,” another sharp tug, “will keep your wings clipped.”

Lip trembling, Myai’s hands went to her neck, touching the warm metal. “An inhibitor?”

“I have a key.” He nodded to himself, releasing the hold on the necklet. “But you'll not see evidence of its existence until I have decided what I am going to do with you exactly.”

Swallowing, Myai made herself reach out, grab his wrist, and hang onto it. “You sent word to me. You... you sent a bloody glove. A.. Dalish glove. One of the ones I gave you. I- I thought you were in danger.”

“Gloves have many meanings, my dear.” He pried her fingers from his wrist, and she tried to hang on, to hope that maybe she could pull out the man she knew, and banish this frightening one. “A challenge. A sign that hands are to be washed of filth. Or in this case, that I was holding a bloody hand out to you. And you took it, my fairest Warden.” A hand went to her head, thrusting into her hair, and forcing her to lean back. “You have taken my hand, and you have come to beautiful Antiva. And so, it is here in Antiva you shall stay.”

Myai's memory traveled back, and remembered the last time she had seen Zevran wear those gloves. It had been atop Fort Drakon, and he had been struggling to free Alistair's frozen corpse from the carcass of the Archdemon. The green leather had been soaked to an ugly brown-black, the paler threads turned pink. Her blood, Zevran's blood, and Alistair's blood had been all over that leather. She couldn't escape the symbolism of such knowledge.

“What are you going to do?” Her eyes stung, the cruel grip in her hair tightening.

“Whatever I want, of course.” His mouth twisted into what should have been a smile, but Myai knew what his smiles looked like. This was a sneer more than anything.

Myai, defenseless for only the second time in her life, quaked. What had she done to make him so angry that he would strip her of the very thing that made her herself? And what, in the Maker's name, would he do to her? The Zevran she knew would never think to rape her of her abilities, to seal them away, to look at her like she was a _thing_.

This man was _not_ Zevran. He wore the face, had the voice, the body – a body that was quickly shoving its trews down one-handed – and the same calloused hands. Recoiling, Myai whimpered, unable to tear away from the hand that was locked in her hair, yanking on her scalp. Thumb and forefinger locked over her nose, forcing her to breathe through her mouth, a mouth that was suddenly invaded, filled.

Gagging, Myai flailed, unable to find purchase on muscular hips, futilely trying to push them away. She choked as she struggled to breathe, inhaling on nothing but the hard heat in her mouth. Bile burnt her belly, lungs demanding air, and that thick almost disgusting thing that should have been used for pleasure, nudging in the back of her throat. Above her there was a hiss, undeniably male and low, the pressure in the back of her throat increasing until it gave, and then her nose was in the dark golden-brown thatch of hair at the base of Zevran's cock.

The fingers holding her nostrils closed disappeared, joining the other hand in her hair. She still couldn't breathe. She tried, really she did, but Zevran's length was blocking everything. She was lightheaded, dizzy, and spots swam through her vision. And then he was thrusting, pulling her head away from him, and forcing her to go up and down the length of his cock. It was all she could do not to choke, to suck in air through her nose when she could before he was back in her throat once more. Again and again she repeated in her mind that this couldn’t be the man who fought beside her for two years, couldn’t be the man who nursed her back to health after the Archdemon was finally killed.

But it was.

Myai knew it was. This was the darkness she had seen in him near the end, the wild beast that had been wounded, but she didn't know what it was that drove him to it. Maybe his return to Antiva had pushed him over the edge, made him be this way with her. Drove him to continue thrusting in and out of her mouth, and then suddenly she _did_ gag. Fully. She was strangling on the hot flood that exploded over her tongue, striking her throat, the thick taste and smell of ejaculate drowned out everything but the low groan that spilled from his lips.

She fell forward, gasping as he pulled away, hand to her neck, semen dripping from her mouth. The floor was uneven, nothing more than dirt beyond the blanket she was on, hunched over, kneeling, arms now around her stomach. Her belly was rebelling, and Myai covered her mouth, clenching her eyes shut, trying not to vomit. Rocking back to sit on her rear once more, she made herself breathe, to calm down. If she could just calm down she could reason with Zevran, could maybe find out why he was being such a monster.

It wasn't like him, she was chanting in her head. It wasn't possible. The denial was something she clung to like a lone lifeline. Startled by a hand wrapping around her ankle and pulling, Myai kicked instinctively, lashing out, her eyes still tightly shut. There was a snort, reminding the mage who exactly she was with; for a moment, muscle memory told her she was safe. In that second of lowered guard, her legs were pushed open, and then some _thing_ , cold, unyielding and hard was thrust into her. Screaming in surprise, Myai thrashed, but she was dragged down, her locking legs pried open further. Then she saw him wrapping straps around her thighs and waist that held the thing that was seated in her tightly, to her body. There would be no escape from it.

Shuddering, Myai scooted away frantically, yanking on the belts but unable to remove them, her shaking fingers refusing her demands. He was sitting there, watching her, and Myai didn't know the reason, didn't understand. Zevran reached out and easily snagged the belt around her waist, dragging her close after she had realized she couldn't get that _thing_ out of her. She found herself twisted around so her back was to his chest, one of his hands cupping her chin, tilting it back, his other roaming over her breasts and belly.

“I take it from your earlier reaction that our dear Chantry-boy never fully claimed your mouth?” While his voice was mellow on the surface, even through the haze of disbelief and horror Myai could hear the bitter edge. When she didn't answer, her air was cut off, fingers wrapping tight about her neck. “I ask you a question, you should answer, Myai. Did he claim your mouth the way I did?”

The pressure lessened. “No.” Shaking her head, “Let me go, Zev- Just.. let me go.”

Myai felt his pommel-roughened hand slip from her stomach and down to her crotch, where he smacked it, ignoring her plea as if he hadn't heard it. “I know he had you _here_.” Fingertips ran down the line to where the phallic object was buried in her, and did something that caused a low thrum of power to traverse its length. “I cannot believe you let him touch you here. It was not his to have.” And then Myai was shoved down onto the ground, a long-fingered hand pressing on the small of her back. “Bah. I know of one place he would never think to touch.”

Myai had barely enough time to register what was happening before a questing digit ran along her crack, found a place that _she_ hadn't ever known could be touched like that, and plunged into the tight hole. Stiffening, the mage bit her lip in surprise. It burned, the ring of muscles straining, trying to push the invader out.

“Ah, yes, he most certainly never touched you here! Good. I can at least have something he had _no_ part in.” Then the digit was all the way in. Myai tried to pull away, only to have a second finger forced in, hooking down, and his thumb outside holding her tight so she screamed. “Tchk, this would have been far easier if you had not gone to that imbecile. I waited, I was patient, I didn't push, I never pushed. I respected your boundaries, I waited, I prayed, I bled, and you went to him, you gave him what was to be mine!”

Flailing, Myai’s frantic animal brain took over, fighting and hissing as she struggled to pull free of his firm grip. Scrabbling on hands and knees, she struggled, but the heavy weight of his hand on the small of her back, the fingers locked inside her ass, all of that prevented her from winning free. Crying brokenly, the mage’s arms gave out, depositing her face-first into the earthen floor. Whimpering, she felt something wet and slick pouring over her behind, and the burning worsened as ‘Zevran’ began moving his long and broad fingers in and out of her.

“Noo,” she moaned, shifting her head on the floor, fingers digging into the unforgiving ground. “Please stop, Zev....!”

The fingers left her suddenly and she dared to hope for a moment, only to have it dashed. A swift crack of his palm over her ass, landing so hard she screamed, and she knew he hadn’t held back any of his considerable strength from the strike. Another followed, along with increased pressure on her spine, until even her knees began to give out, pinning her in place as more blows fell. Myai’s lungs burned for air, as she screamed herself hoarse, leaving nothing but gasping pants when it suddenly stopped.

“If I wish you to speak, I will tell you to,” Zevran said, his hand thrusting into her hair, pulling her to her knees, bowing her back sharply, so far she thought her spine would break. 

Eyes rolling in agony, Myai whimpered when his mouth crashed onto hers, his other hand yanking at her chin, prying her jaw open, so he could fill her with his tongue. It started off as brutal as everything else had, then became softer, soothing. Confused and hurting, Myai felt the hot tears falling from her clenched lids smoothed away by a gentle hand, as his tongue turned probing. Still the hand locked in her hair was cruel, and she feared that he would tear hair from her head at any moment. And yet the kiss had turned sweet. With trembling fingers she reached up to touch his cheek.

With a snarl, the Crow broke away, and she was flung towards the wall. “I did not say you could _touch_ me, you filthy bitch!”

Huddling, Myai curled into a tight ball. “But-”

A sharp blow landed on her arm, a hard reminder. “I didn’t say you could speak, _either_.” Once more Zevran grabbed her, by both arms this time, giving her a hard shake, his expression enraged. “I would have given you anything, I would have given you everything. You made me do this. Now we both have to live with it. I’ll hear no words from your lying mouth, I’ll accept no touches from your cruel hands!"

Inside her body, the phallus stabbed at her channel, the rough treatment causing it to grind inside her painfully. Agony within, without, and in her mind. Myai didn’t understand, didn’t know why he was doing this, couldn’t ask, and was left with nothing when he spun her around, pressing her back to his chest once more. A brusque hand shoved her upper body down, and again he was behind her. This time, instead of fingers, something larger, _much_ larger, blunt, thick and unforgivingly hard pushed. Summoning the strength to struggle again, Myai screamed as he forced himself into her body, and she felt as though she would burst, as though she were being torn in two. Once he was seated he waited, going still, not exactly a mercy, but it was just enough for her hole to begin to adjust to him, and then he began to move.

Long hard pounding, fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, a riot of excruciating sensation. Myai had no idea what she had done to deserve this, didn’t understand at all. She tried to blank it out, but Zevran knew his business and she felt his weight arch over her, one of his hands slipping between her thighs, yanking at the front of the harness. Friction from both areas and he did something else, which elicited little more than a gasp as her voice was gone, that thrum becoming stronger, and an electrical spark shocking her sheath. All the while he was muttering to himself, words she didn’t understand, her Antivan not good enough to pick out more than a word here or there with the speed at which he spoke. Internal pressure built, and no matter how hard her mind or body fought, the Crow was making it abundantly clear he could not only do _to_ her whatever he wanted, he could _make_ her respond whenever he wished.

Shaking her head as she sought to fight it off, Zevran growled down at her, “I love you, I trusted you, and you repay me by going to him!" His snarl was punctuated by a deeper, harder jab, and nails gouging a path along her sides. "I love you. And hate you! I hate you for making me hate you, for making me love you, and then betraying me like that!"

Finding enough breath to try to cry again, all that came out was a strangled squeal as his pace picked up, and the electricity throbbed inside her. Behind and above her came an amused, dark laugh, thick with poison. The thrusts became smoother and longer, until he held himself shoved all the way in, and she felt warmth flooding her ass as he spilled his seed with a low moan. Myai shuddered when his arms enfolded her, pulling her back into his chest, the touch of lips on the side of her neck soft. 

_“Amora,”_ he whispered, nuzzling at her ear, calloused palms running over her breasts and belly. _“Mio toda la mina. Te amo, mi amora.”_

Sick to her stomach, any reserves of strength long since fled, Myai held still as the Crow unfastened the harness, tossing it to the table with typical perfect aim. It landed with a loud clank, and Myai swallowed her pained moan when Zevran withdrew from her body, though tears slid from her burning, itching eyes. Strong hands lay her on the rough blanket, and she closed her eyes, turning her face away, unable to look at his expression. She was unable to accept how different he was in that moment from how he had been for what seemed an eternity of pain just now. Myai wanted her Zevran back, not this wicked impostor who was touching her with care. The sharp smell of elfroot filled her nose, and the cold of it was smeared over her ravaged sex and ass.

Another blanket floated over her, the sound a sharp snap, and then it draped her body, a warm naked body pressed close. Uncaring of whatever he would do next, Myai remained still, rigid, unmoving. Later she could find time to puzzle out what was going on, why Zevran was doing this. And what she could do to keep him from hurting her again; maybe... maybe even heal him. 

She was a Spirit Healer, it’s what she did.

XXX

Myai was ragged. Her skin wasn’t torn to shreds, but it was bruised. Parts of her were sore and worn out that she didn’t know could be so ill treated. And she was cold, so cold. The cellar was rough, and the stairs that led up to the door were steep, and long, so she knew she was at least two or three times her inconsiderable, extra-petite elven height, deep. Huddling under the two blankets - one that had been her only protection from the earth when she slept, and the other her only cover - the Warden wept in bitter confusion now that she was alone.

Zevran had left some time in the... night? Day? She wasn’t certain what time it had been, or was now. It didn’t matter. He had left. Leaving her alone in this place. A long chain had been hooked to the back of the inhibitor collar, so she couldn’t get very far, couldn’t reach the table, not that she wanted to. But the table was off the dirt, and it would have been warmer. And so she was left there, alone with nothing but her thoughts. Even sleep eluded her.

Dragging shaking hands through her hair, the ebony braids having been undone long before she had awakened in this place, Myai chewed her lip. It stung, bruised as it was, but it was a nervous habit that hadn’t ever lost, not even when it had been split by an ogre’s fist. Despair threatened to overtake her; this wasn’t Ft. Drakon, and there was no Oghren and Zevran to save her. Especially since Zevran was the one who put her here.

“But why?” she whispered to nothing. 

Shaking fingers went to her ear, she had accepted the earring from Zevran, accepted his ‘payment’. She hadn’t wanted to, not as a payment. But the pleading in his gaze, the way his body thrummed... so she had taken it. It wasn’t in her ear anymore, and she missed it. At night she would pretend that it had meant something, that it was a token of affection - no, love. Yet she knew that it couldn’t have been, Zevran was too wounded by what love had done to him in the past. He was too _practical_ to let such a threat happen to him again, particularly not for someone like _her_. As Wynne had said: what sort of man would marry, or be with a mage, for more than a dalliance?

Any children she could have born would in all likelihood be mages. That is if the Taint hadn’t been there to rob her of even that. But that was a relief at least. There wouldn’t be a child torn from her arms by Templars, either at birth or at manifestation. No child who would have to bear taunts, and fear a Harrowing. Or even their very sleep, which would have been fraught with danger.

Stroking the spot where the indent was, that the earring had so recently filled, Myai shuddered. How she had wanted to hold Zevran when he spoke of Rinna. Of his childhood. Of the blank way he talked of the Dalish. All of it had been a nightmare, something that would have broken a lesser man. Yet he claimed it was _she_ who had broken him. 

It was a claim that she could make head nor tail of. Unless there was some way that her withdrawing had done it. How could that even be possible? The implications were frightening, and Myai shied away. It was easier to think he had finally broken under pressure, that something other than her had done it. The earring’s absence didn’t lie though. It refused all of her scrambling to think of something, someone, that could have caused Zevran to lose his mind. 

And yet.....

The loss of Rinna had driven him to seek death. Since Zevran was alive, that meant that the loss of Myai’s attentions hadn’t pushed him to that state at least. But madness? Brutality? He had said that he waited patiently for her, that he had wanted her, and would have done anything. Swallowing thickly, Myai’s hand went to her throat, heartsick. She had done something pure in the name of love, so she had thought. So she had prayed. And yet he had waited. He was the one who stayed by her side until she was better. He was the one who buried Ser Loin after the Crow attack. In fact, he was the one who only left _after_ the Crows had come seeking. 

As a healer, she was used to her diagnosis and decisions on treatments being correct; lives often depended on her assessments. But this time, she may have made a mistake. A horrible, disgusting mistake. Loathing herself, Myai turned and pressed her face into the earthen wall, a hand reaching out to the support beam to which her chain was attached and keened, pouring out her anguish and self-hate. 

She had _failed_ the one person she loved, by trying to protect him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
Zevran(5678)  
XXX

Incomprehension had turned to incredulity, to pain, to shame, and then to pain again. Pain eventually led to rage. How dare she, he had thought. Everything he had believed about the “gentle” Warden was a lie. That thing she did when chewing her lip, eyes wide and anxious, looking to him like an overgrown kitten. All its innocence was a _lie_. The way she had listened and made him believe she understood, and felt empathy, perhaps even _cared_ for him.... But Zevran,knew, he was just a whoreson and a murderer. That’s what he had thought at some point, feeling unworthy. And still she had sat with him, listened, or spoke, asking questions - about him, his training, his home, his hopes and dreams, even his thoughts. No little thing had been left alone, and at some point he had begun to believe that it was possible he could earn her love, or at least her friendship.

And then, when he was at his most vulnerable, when he had offered his worst secret up to her and his heart and soul, on a Maker-damned-silver-fucking-platter.... she had backed away. That- that he could understand. He had thought, foolishly, that she just needed time to process it. To come to terms with the worst he was capable of. But that she would at least give him a chance to prove himself again, to beg for her platonic care, if not her love. Then the _noises_ had started. Alistair’s voice, a broken cry, and a whimper from her. And he had _known_.

She took the opening he had made just for her, and for her alone, and filled it with fire. A burning agony had overtaken him, a madness that almost caused him to shred his body to nothing, because he had sworn he was dying from the pain. Ever since he had been soulsick with it. And even then he had given her opportunities, and been unable to keep his bleeding heart in check; it insisted over and over again that surely _Myai_ couldn't have done it. Not _her_. 

Snarling, Zevran slammed his fist on the prep table in the cottage’s kitchen. The mortar and pestle with elfroot and bloodcap clattered on the wood, while Zevran struggled for self-control. Pushing away from the table, the Crow staggered to the back door, and brought up the food he had not tasted that morning. Rage was a poison and he knew it, one far more deadly than anything a man could mix in a glass vial. It had eaten away at him after he left her side in Denerim. 

Even then he had prayed she would look at him and seek him out, since the filthy _shem_ who had put his royal bastard paws on her was dead. But she hadn’t, only remaining withdrawn. _Pining_ for that boy, when there was a man who had offered every ounce of himself up, and still been found utterly lacking. Truthfully, Zevran had left her one more chance; the glove had been a warning, not just a threat. One carefully calculated to tell her that she shouldn’t come to Antiva, even as he was sure it would draw her. At least from a sense of duty, if not one of care. And so she was here, and the rage had overtaken him.

It had been impossible to keep it in check any longer, seeing her drug induced sleeping body. The dam had broken, and Zevran had come quite close to simply killing her outright. It was either that or shake her awake and pour his heart out like some lovesick fool. But that hadn’t worked before, why would it now? So that had left him only the rage, and its bitter poison. 

Retching until there was nothing left in his body, the Antivan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, gaze unfocused. “If I cannot have her willing, I will still have her.”

That was the only retribution he could come up with that didn’t involve ending her life. And Zevran well knew that having her blood on his hands would destroy him utterly, with no hope of redemption. This way at least he could have a shadow of what he had worked so hard to gain. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but it was all he could have.

He would just have to make do.

XXX

As he descended the steps, the platter of food in hand, Zevran watched her flinch when she raised her eyes to him. Again, more proof that she thought him base. Never mind that since she had first awoken he had not shown her anything else. But he had thought she _knew_ him. Then again, he wasn’t so sure he knew himself anymore.

Setting the tray before her, the bowl of soup filled to the brim with vegetables, broth and grain, Zevran gestured at it. “Eat.”

He couldn’t help that his gaze flicked to her mouth when she licked her bruised lips. “Zevra--”

“I said eat-,” he backhanded her sharply, “not talk.”

He knew he didn’t dare listen to her speak. Zevran didn’t want to hear any fresh falsehoods, any platitudes, professions of innocence. All lies. The magic that was held in her body was dormant, but not the magic of her voice. No, it would be too risky to permit her to talk. Not until she at least learned her place. It had been her voice in part, singing as she cast spells in that first battle right before she spared him, that drew the Antivan to her. Like a siren, and he felt like a sailor who would throw himself to his death willingly. And he had wanted to die, to be cast down and dashed, drowning as she shattered him with her song. But she had spared him.

And then shattered him into a thousand, thousand pieces all while leaving him horribly alive.

Fat tears welled up from bloodshot eyes, and she shook her head, pushing at the tray. 

Grabbing her by the jaw, Zevran pulled her in close, both so he could touch her and smell her, as well as to goad her. “I know a dozen ways to force you to eat, my fairest Warden. I know a thousand poisons and drugs to put in your food. I am giving you the option of not forcing me to shove this meal down your pretty little throat. It isn’t drugged or poisoned. You may have a low opinion of me, Myai, but I already told you, I won’t be repeating the mistake I made with Rinna.” He moved his fingers to the corner of her jaw, pressing on the hinges so they fell open involuntarily. “But I suppose the hard way is how this will go.”

His Warden mewled uselessly as he kept her mouth open, and began shoveling the hearty soup into her mouth. Holding her mouth closed, he stared into her brown eyes, willing her to obey. There was a strangled sound as she choked, swallowing the soup. Before she could get more than a bit of air, he was again refilling her mouth with more food. He did this until the meal was gone, then held out the cup to her, brow raised. Waiting.

There was shame and pain in her eyes, and Zevran felt both satisfied and repulsed. Still he kept it all locked up when she took the cup from him with hands that shook as bad as an elderly person’s would with palsy. Once she had drained the cup’s contents, Zevran took her face in his hands, pulling her in close once more. A hitching breath that was about to become a sob was smothered, as he delivered a bruising kiss. 

Making do - it was all he had.

XXX

A week of taking his anger out on her in one way or another had slackened the worst of the ravening, howling beast. The poison inside him still ate away, left food tasting of ashes in his mouth, his sleep fitful. His single-minded determination, and the bulk of his rage, he unleashed upon the Guild. They had overstepped themselves in Denerim, coming for his Warden. Myai belonged to _him_ and the only person who could strike at her in any fashion was _him_. All told his war was going well, but the one with Myai was going mediocre at best. She kept trying to _talk_ to him, and Zevran couldn’t stand it. 

It made him strike her, beat her down, pry her legs open and plunder her ass as viciously as he could. There was no way he would touch her womanhood - Zevran could _swear_ he could smell the stink of another man on her there, so he wouldn’t even _touch_ it except when absolutely necessary. He hoped that passed eventually, for he didn’t want to spend the next twenty-some years kept from the entirety of her body.

But today the raucous screaming in his head was quiet, which allowed him to think logically. Other than her attempts to speak, his Warden had been well behaved. She didn’t fight, and accepted any punishment he dished, even if she did sob or scream time to time. And, after the first time, he didn’t have to force her to eat, though sometimes she would struggle to keep it all down. So it was time for a reward of a sort he felt, as the morning was bright and warm, so he decided that instead of cold water, he would give her warm for her bath, and bring her outside for a little fresh air. 

Setting up in preparation, the Crow pulled out two stools, and two buckets. The third bucket’s water was busy heating, and he went over the contents of the pack Myai had brought from Ferelden. It showed signs of being hastily packed, lyrium, socks, several changes of smallclothes, and only another set of robes, as well as a washcloth and a bar of soap. Taking the soap in hand, Zevran inhaled its scent deeply. Comfry and honey - a light perfume that would hang about her for hours after she bathed, and at one point would fill his senses with her when she stood near. Its scent brought back memories of trailing behind her unseen to watch her bathe once, kneeling beside a small stream, stripped down to her skin, looking nothing like a person, and more of a wood nymph. How that image had fueled him, and been carried close to the vest, and whenever he thought he was pushing her too far, too fast, he would remind himself of her ethereal and delicate nature with that image. 

None of his servants knew she was here, and this cottage was far away from the main grounds, a cultivated copse of trees ringing it. At one point it probably was a cozy home for a groundskeeper and his family. Some time from now it would return to its original purpose in all likelihood, however at this moment the Crow had a more personal, vested interest in it. Since none of his servants knew his Warden was here, they also had no idea that _he_ was here, thinking that he was away on business. And he was, after a fashion. The Guild war was tiresome, and a distraction from his real goals, but it would provide protection in the long run. 

Entering the cellar, a strip of cloth in hand, Zevran watched Myai raise her face to look up at him. Tangled hair, vaguely dirty - cold water rub downs weren’t the best for bathing, but were all he had allowed her - eyes still bloodshot. Pale skin, even paler, the bruises standing out starkly, almost accusingly, at him. In part, the Antivan had never wanted to mark her like that, not more than beyond a lover’s bite. In part it was punishment, either for himself believing that someone would actually care for him - a foolish dream that was - or for her, for making him dare to believe. For near two years he had believed, even when she was sullying herself with Alistair, that there was some shred of possibility. But she had remained separate, aloof, even after a few months of recovery and his tending to her every need. 

Clenching his teeth, Zevran took the steep stairs, descending slowly, staring her down. Brown eyes lowered eventually to fixate on the earthen floor. She shifted to her knees, her hands wringing over themselves in her lap. Zevran paused about half way down the steps, narrowing his gaze at her, unsure of what she was about. He could hear her suck in a deep breath as the chain clinked in the dimly lit cellar - the oil was probably low and needed refilling. Myai glanced up at him and pushed her tangled hair from her face, pulling it to one side, as she scooted around once more, still on her knees, visibly shaking hands pressing to the walls. Unsure of what game she was playing, he approached slowly, half expecting her to turn on him at any moment. She made no move at all, even when he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, wary for any attack. There was none, but she shivered under the touch. Goosebumps spread all over her flesh, and he heard her teeth chatter before that was silenced as she rested her cheek against the wall between her braced hands.

The Crow leaned in, pressing his lips over the shell of her ear as he hissed, “And what do you think you are doing _amora_ , hmn?”

“I... don’t know.” Her voice trembled like her body. “I thought...”

Zevran bit her ear, eliciting a scream. “Did I say you could think?”

Myai whimpered and shook her head. “Zev-”

Before she could finish his name, he shoved her at the wall sharply, making her bash her head. “Enough. Do not move.”

Putting the blindfold on her he tied it securely, and went to the table where his tools remained laid out. Hands skipping over the various implements he went for the silk rope and returned, binding her hands at the wrist, and thumb to thumb, then hobbled her feet. The entire time Myai remained still, but for her shivering. Undoing the chain’s lock, he let it hang from the support beam for later. Slinging her inconsiderable weight over his shoulder, he carried her up the stairs, a proprietary hand on her ass the entire way to the stool outside. Plunking her on it carefully, he went about removing his shirt and rolled up his pant’s legs to his knees. Pulling the other stool close, he sat, and poured some of the hot water into the empty bucket and added cold to it, so it wouldn’t be scalding. Dunking a washcloth into the hot water, he worked a lather up and began washing her face, working his way over her slowly.

Assessing the bruises on her, Zevran knew he would have to give her a potion to ensure no major damage had been incurred. It could wait though, and he proceeded to cover her head to toe in the scent of honey and comfry. The air was warm, and eventually his Warden stopped her shivering. Ladling some of the clean, warm water over her to rinse her clean and moisten her hair, Zevran watched her nipples pucker, and every flinch when he touched a sore spot. Removing the blindfold long enough for him to work soap into her hair - she was blinded by water, and wouldn’t be able to open her eyes anyway - Zevran breathed deep. When she had still been wounded he had bathed her similarly, and found himself using the same care. He couldn’t help it, nor the fact that his body was stirring strongly at the sight of her soaking wet, dripping glistening gems onto the grass. Mixing the last of the hot water with cool, he checked the temperature and poured it over her, washing away dirt and suds.

Squeezing excess water from her hair, Zevran twisted it into a tight knot at the base of her neck, his arms coming around her with the motion. It was then that she moved, a broken sigh as she rested her forehead on his shoulder. Freezing, the Crow waited, but she made no further movements, shuddering in the unintentional embrace, he felt more than heard the hiccup. Clenching his eyes shut, the Antivan waited, narrowly resisting the urge to pull her in tighter. When there was no sign that she would move away, Zevran yanked at the knot of her hair sharply, pulling her face back. Her lids fluttered, lips twitching as though she were about to say something.

“Stay still, don’t speak.” His voice wasn’t hard enough, but Zevran couldn’t help it. 

Myai went still, clumped lashes beginning to part. He couldn’t let that happen, and silenced anything she would do or say or see before she could. Kissing her, Zevran pushed his tongue into her mouth, stroking the wet muscle in her mouth with his, working it to life with a growl when she didn’t respond. Finally she did, the motion clumsy and tentative but otherwise she remained still, allowing him his will. Breaking away he groaned, trailing a hand over her face to grab her chin, tilting her head so he could lap at the moisture still on her cheeks. Up to her ear his tongue skittered, the hitch in her breathing going straight to his groin. Adjusting himself one-handed, Zevran suckled at the tip of her ear, then thrust his tongue into the canal. He felt Myai fight to not move, but she wasn’t successful, while a moan broke free. Zevran could forgive her that, this once, and continued, working his way over the delicate, nerve-heavy cartilage. Loosening the hobbles enough to spread her knees, Zevran shifted from his stool to his knees, a hand stroking her inner thigh. This was part of what he had longed for, the music of Myai’s whimpers as he touched her like she was precious. Never mind that she had shown her true, black-hearted betraying colors, Zevran still longed for the illusion. And it didn’t matter in the end, she was as precious a thing as he could ever hope to have.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he made Myai lean back, chest thrust up, presenting him with her breasts. Laving at a ruddy brown aureola until it went soft from the warmth of his mouth, then teasing it with his teeth, and he could smell her becoming wet between her thighs. Probing along her seam, Zevran found her slick, the moisture on her pubic hair not simply from the water of her bath. In the confines of his trews, he flexed, his arousal burning hot at the evidence on his fingers. Parting her lips with his digits, he slid his thumb around her nubbin, massaging the ridge with increasing pressure until a breathy mewl escaped Myai’s throat. Lifting her bound hands and placing them on his shoulder, Zevran carefully maneuvered down her body, sucking water from her skin. Pressing his nose into her mound, he inhaled deeply, rumbling at the scent of how ready she was. Nuzzling at her flower, the Crow spread the lips with his tongue, licking at the salty musk, with its acidic tang spilling over the wet muscle.

Overhead Myai moaned, which quickly became a panting keen as he rocked his tongue against the entirety of her sex. Groaning into her, Zevran felt partially bound fingers flexing against his head, and the accompanying bucking of her hips heralded her release. Slowing his ministrations down, he focused, teasing at her anus with a finger he had moistened in her own nectar, easing in to the first knuckle, loosening her, as his own need rose up, refusing to be denied. There was a whimper that came with each swirl of his tongue, dancing over the delicate flesh, dipping in and tasting her juice as he worked on the tighter pucker with his fingers. 

Myai sobbed his name, causing his back muscles to tense while hers trembled. There was the telltale rush of thicker cream, washing over his lips, the arrhythmic fluttering around his fingers, and further whimpers. It was not that she had found her peak that made Zevran tense, but the use of his name, the use of speech, which he had _told_ her not to use. And again she said it, sighing as she did so. Clenching his jaw, the Crow pulled away to see her with lids still closed, face flushed. She hadn’t moved beyond what she couldn’t help. Not even two days ago, he would have smacked her hard enough to send her tumbling from the stool for such a trespass. 

But today, today he was able to resist that urge, so long as she remained still. Rumbling in the back of his throat, Zevran leaned in and kissed her once more. And then she had to go and _ruin_ that moment, her bound hands moving to touch him. 

Breaking away, the Crow snarled, making her eyes snap open as he spit on the grass, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth. “I can still taste that disgusting _shem_ in you.”

“Zev-” Her lips parted to protest.

Grabbing her about the waist, he tossed her onto his shoulder, hauling her back down to the cellar. Going over to the table, he shoved everything off it one-handed, the implements clattering as they struck themselves when landing. Unceremoniously, Zevran deposited Myai on the long wooden table, and set about adjusting the ropes. Retying them so her legs were bent, knees pointing towards the ceiling, feet planted on the wooden planking. Yanking her hips down to the edge of the table, Zevran moved to string her arms over her head, ensuring there would be no further insults thrown at him, no more stepping out of bounds.

Grabbing a poultice and a potion, he uncorked the bottle with his teeth, and held it to Myai’s lips, while propping her head up. “Drink.”

Myai’s lips trembled, in fear and discomfort, along with probable pain. “W-why?”

“It will keep you awake and it will heal the bumps on your head, now shut up and drink it, I won’t repeat myself again.” He pinned her with a dark glower, his voice straining.

Once she finished the potion, he tossed it back to the ground, and opened the jar of poultice. Skimming salve-covered hands over her body, Zevran didn’t dare look at her face, not at the moment. His name on her lips, the touch, it was too much. So, with shaking limbs Zevran restrained himself, restrained the scream inside his head that made him want to rend and tear. Leaning over, he bit the faint curve of her stomach, eliciting a squeak.

Pushing two fingers into her channel again, pressing at the roof of her sheath, Zevran barked his question. “Did that foul creature do _this_ with you, my Warden?”

Myai moaned, arching as he continued working her sex, the soft walls of her vagina locking around the intrusion. 

Pulling his fingers free, Zevran reached up, smearing the wetness over her mouth. “Did _he_ touch you this way?”

“N-no,” Myai whimpered, her hips lifting from the table helplessly. “H-he didn’t.”

Leaving her long enough to pick up a narrow rod with a small rosebud tip, Zevran set a box filled with strong spirits, beside Myai’s head, laying the thin rod in it. With flint and steel he set the spirits on fire, let them burn for a moment, as the scent filled the cellar with its acrid stench and snuffed the flames out. Myai flinched away, face turning from him, coughing at the smell. Once the rod had cooled sufficiently the assassin dipped it in oil, watching as it spread, turning the very fine silverite sound a shiny white that glistened in the dim light of the lamps.

“And this? Did he touch you here?” spreading her sex with one hand, running the finely pointed tip along the space between the ridge of her clitoris and her opening. “With his hands, his mouth?”

Before she could answer him, Zevran spread the pink flesh further, searching for the tiny hole that hid there. Stroking around the opening, the Crow teased the tip in and out, Myai’s shocked gasp and frantic pulling at the ropes like music. Baring his teeth at her, Zevran pressed the rosebud in slowly, rotating the rod as he did so. Myai shuddered in response, her knees trying to close, but they were held tight by the ropes. 

Chuckling at the sight of her confused arousal, Zevran gradually took her in a way few women ever were. “Struggling is quite dangerous, Myai. I don’t advise it.”

By the time the bud had passed fully into the opening, Myai was a whimpering, shuddering wreck, wetness dripping from her canal, the flush that had swept from her face down to her very toes belying any play that she did not like it. Slipping his finger through the loop at the end of the rod, he allowed it to slide the rest of the way into her body until his hand brought it up short. Sticky nectar coated her whole sex, puddling on the table, the flesh of her womanhood shining and glinting as the muscles flexed. Pressing two fingers into her entrance, Zevran massaged along the roof once more, in time to the slow thrusting of the sound into her urethra, and leaned over, taking her bud in his mouth, lashing it at the same pace. Myai screamed as her entire body bucked, unable to keep still, and he continued through that first intense orgasm, and through several more.

Once Myai was nothing more than a babbling mass of nerves, the Crow parted from her long enough to grab the low level electrical rune and affix it to the end of the rod, pulling her hips further towards the edge. His Warden’s voice broke as the electrical pulses began, and he waited, watching the rhythm of her contracting body before pushing the head of his cock into her ass. The motion of her muscles flexing pulled him in, devouring his manhood, and she cried out again when he adjusted the rune, so that while the rod was fully in her, the rune itself kept it from going too deep, and lay the bit of lyrium-infused metal over her clit. Massaging it over the ridge, Zevran allowed her body to milk him, and he could feel the electrical sparks traveling even into his own member. Groaning as he started thrusting, Zevran arched over her, planting his hands on either side of her chest for leverage. It did not take long to lose himself, and once he was finished, Myai sobbed plaintively as he pulled free, pleading for more, incoherently.

“No,” he said, denying her as he unbound her, removing the sounding rod, and carrying her to the blankets he had provided for minimal comfort. “I am through with you this day.”

Weakly she looked up at him, her hands going to cover her violated sex. “What - what, why...?”

Grabbing her by the hair, Zevran squatted, bringing himself to her eye-level. “I told you I would do whatever I wanted to you. I will claim you as mine, I will _own_ you by the time I am done. I will make you plead and beg, until you are as nothing, just the way you made me.”

Tears welled up and fell over her cheeks. “Zevran I -”

Kissing her hard, he silenced her protests, and ignored her calling after him when he left. He had a bit of business to attend to in the City. If he was fast he would be able to return by nightfall to show Myai again that she was nothing other than his. That she had no value but what he gave her. In the end he would break her into loving him in some sick fashion, but it was the only love he would get, so it would simply have to be enough.

XXX  
(Myai)  
XXX

Myai was weak with thirst and hunger. Since she had awoken in this cellar the first time, Zevran had always come several times a day to feed her. Not once had he withheld food or water, no matter what else he did to her body. But he had not come, for how long she wasn’t entirely certain, but the painful hunger and the agonizing thirst told her what she needed to know. She was dying of it, and would, if Zevran didn’t come soon. Shifting on her blanket, Myai shuddered. Of all the ways she thought to die, this was not one of them. 

She must have dozed off, her body conserving what strength she had, for she jerked when there was the loud banging of the cellar door. Framed in the doorway was a slouching figure she couldn’t see clearly, as the oil in the lamps had run out quite some time ago, but if she squinted the small amount of light made her think it might be Zevran. Heavy steps, and labored breathing were loud, and the form lurched down the stairs, stumbling. The nearer he got, the more certain she was that it _was_ Zevran, and she could tell that the stumbling wasn’t from drunkenness, but injury. A pack dropped from his shoulders by her as he stumbled the rest of the way to her, falling beside her, shaking hands going to the chain that held fast to the inhibitor collar. 

Myai caught her arms about him as he swayed, and she felt wetness all over her chest as well as the hardened leather of his armor. The key clicked in the lock and she felt the weight fall away. Zevran leaned against her, the blood smell overpowering, the labor of his breathing hard and extreme. If she had her powers she could heal him and would, without thought. 

“Zevran? Zevran, where’s the key to the inhibitor?” She was croaking at him desperately, as more of his weight was pushed onto her.

He said nothing, couldn’t say anything, she thought, as he shuddered once, and fell over fully. She hadn’t the strength to do anything, even slow his fall. Crawling to the fallen pack, she dug into it, hands encountering a waterskin. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to help Zevran until she first helped herself, she drank deeply, but forced herself to stop. It wouldn’t help either of them if she got water sick. Revitalized a little, she dug some more, finding food and jars of poultices by touch and smell, but nothing else. No oil. She _needed_ light to do anything for him.

Bracing herself, the young woman summoned up her strength and dragged herself up the stairs, where she stumbled around until she found a jug of oil. Panting and leaning against the wall as a dizzy spell took her, she clutched the precious prize to her chest. Praying that she didn’t spill any of it, she worked her way down the stairs, and to the nearest lamp. Refilling the earthen pot, she coaxed a flame to the wick. Her eyes watered at the sudden light spilling, but she brought the little lamp near Zevran’s sprawled form. 

Whimpering at the sight of him, bloodied and poorly bandaged, a surge of adrenaline gave her strength. Enough strength to work him out of his armor, and get herself to the table, searching for anything that could be used to piece him back together. Husbanding the contents of the waterskin, she bathed the wounds how she could, making herself take a few sips for every bit she trickled into his wounds. Applying poultices, kits, and stitching everything she could with the little bit of thread she had found, Myai rocked back on her heels, not satisfied, yet knowing this was the best she could do for now.

Shaking the waterskin, she knew they would both need more, so she forced herself back up the steps, and searched through the small cottage. A trove of things like blankets, and more needle and thread, and _bandages_ , more poultices, some food, clothes, and her pack - it was obvious Zevran had been staying at the cottage rather than somewhere nearby. That meant water had to be near. Shrugging her robe on, Myai ventured outside, and spied a well by the moon’s light. Working the winch left her breathless and tired, but she hauled up a bucket, which she drank from greedily and then refilled the waterskin. Pouring the rest into a spare bucket, she hauled it downstairs, having to make several trips that made her sway with fatigue and weakness. Blankets, the couple of pillows she found, all were taken downstairs. Somehow she managed, but whenever weakness would threaten to drag her down, Myai just had to think of Zevran, broken and bloody, and it would send another surge of strength to her limbs.

Covering Zevran’s broken and wounded form, she made herself stay awake enough to eat some of the bread and trail rations he had brought. And then, too tired to do more, she curled up next to Zevran, laying a hand over his chest so she would feel it rise and fall with his, somewhat easier, breathing. In the morning she would try and feed him some mash, and then look for the key to the inhibitor. As soon as she could find that she could heal him, and then hold him still enough to _listen_ to her.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch3 (5130)  
Myai  
XXX

Zevran took several days to mend enough to walk around on his own, and ignored any questions she asked. And he had re-chained her to the post. She had hoped they might be past that, but apparently not. Also, as soon as he was able to, he had gone too far for her to reach him, not allowing her the comfort of knowing she could tend to him when he needed it. Myai was upset by this, all she wanted was to _fix_ the problem, fix their miscommunication. Erase it, however she could. He just wouldn’t let her.

She heard his knees creak faintly when he squatted before her, his callused palm holding her chin firm as he stared into her face, hard. “You did not try to get away. Why?”

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” answering him truthfully. “I couldn’t leave with things like this.”

“Mph.” The noise he made was little more than a grunt, and then the warmth of his hand was gone. He straightened. “I will return soon.”

Some time passed, perhaps a few hours. Myai no longer had the ability to tell time without cues, as she had once been able to do when living in the Tower, but that probably had to do with not being able to access the Fade. Eventually he did return, a bundle of cloth over his arm, which he tossed to her. Pulling the fabric from where it had landed brusquely over her, Myai looked at it in confusion. It was clothing obviously, but not any kind she was used to, comprised of a shirt that was so short it would barely cover her breasts, and long bands of cloth.

There was a growl, and she found herself yanked to her feet. She remained still, having learned that this was one of the only things she could do to prevent him from becoming a snarling mass of rage. Once he was done, she glanced down at the sea green garment; it consisted of a long, lightweight skirt about her hips, and a piece of it draped and twisted about her bare midriff and over a shoulder. There were large swaths of her skin visible, but it was the most clothing she had had, other than the few days he had let her keep her robe. The chain was removed, but her hands were bound and a blindfold put over her eyes. Up the stairs he guided her, and she stumbled a few times, barefoot as she was, having to lean on him. 

There was the sound of a door opening and she heard the snort of a horse. Jerking in Zevran’s firm grip, her head swung around, blind, and unable to see. She stumbled again, taking two small steps upward, and there was the impression of being enclosed in a box. Zevran sat beside her, and the conveyance lurched to a start. A cry worked from her mouth, and Myai huddled towards Zevran, unsure of what was going on.

After only a short journey the carriage stopped, and she was guided through more paces, and up some stairs until a key in a lock jangled. Zevran pushed her into the new place, removed her blindfold, and then unbound her hands. Blinking several times to adjust to the light, she saw a room. A bedroom to be exact. Turning around in a circle, she spied a large bed, one of the biggest she had ever seen. Thin netting hung from the ceiling, cascading in white over the bed. Casting him an uncertain look, she took in his walled-off expression, and crossed arms, realising she would find no answers there. Stepping away from him cautiously, she explored, a small bathroom, with a tub, and an odd, square shaped chamberpot, done in tiled porcelain, resided in the triangular bath. A mirror hung in the room, and there was a basin with strange handles and a spout. One handle was painted red, the other blue. Leaving it for the moment, Myai re-entered the main room, with a large armoire, a table that looked like it was for two, and a strange couch, with only one arm, and half of a sloping back. A stack of books stood on the floor.

Licking her lips, she clasped her hands in front of her. “Where are we?”

“This is your room,” he replied, waving a hand. Beside him an old, stooped woman stood, and he waved at her as well. “Hula will bring you your meals, and clean your room. She cannot speak, and is mostly deaf , and also illiterate. Nothing you do or say will make her betray me, or let you free.”

XXX

Days passed into weeks. Myai found the room comfortable, if lonely. Books would be brought to her from time to time, but there was nothing to do other than read. And pace. She did a lot of that now. There was nothing to do to pass the time, no one to talk to. Hula would come, and scurry around the room as fast as her old body would allow. Whenever Myai tried to help her with the light cleaning, the old woman swatted at her hands, pushing her to sit and not bother her. Night was the only other time she saw anyone, and that was Zevran. 

He was no company at all. 

The Crow would just sit and eat dinner with her, or watch her eat. Whenever she tried to speak, he would glower at best, smack her at worst. Myai prayed that with enough time, he would loosen his stance enough to allow her to speak, to explain herself, to apologize. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but to keep him safe. Even if it had only made matters worse, she had tried _so hard_. She had been so confused. So frightened. All she had wanted to do was keep him from harm. This was her punishment, handed down from the Maker, for being a mage, for being a fool. For believing for a single moment that she always knew what was best.

Sometimes he would do... _things_ to her. Things that made her tremble and shake, make her scream out loud as he took her. Afterwards he would always depart, leave her laying in a sweaty, sodden pile, to weep for the fact that all she wanted was to hold him, and to be held, and told that everything would be alright. Myai sometimes thought she was going to lose her mind from the quiet. The small window would give her some sunlight, and sometimes she would stand in the small path that the high window would cast, desperate for something, anything, that wasn’t this silent prison. 

No matter that her wardrobe was filled to bursting with pretty garments, and the bathroom now housed women’s paints that were a mass of rainbows; Myai opted to wear nothing but a simple shift, at least of late. The only people who saw her were Zevran and Hula. Nothing mattered. So she stopped doing anything but the most minimal of upkeep, and lately, Myai didn’t even feel like doing _that_. Sitting on the hard, marble floor, kicking away one of the thin, woven rugs, she tucked her chin over her knees, hugging her legs, as she sat in the small pool of sunlight. 

She didn’t want to die, but this wasn’t living, so she stopped pretending and merely existed. When Hula came to tidy the room, she pushed at Myai’s shoulders, tugged on her arms, but Myai only jerked away from the old woman’s grasp. If Zevran wanted to punish her, and she did deserve it, then Myai just wanted to _be_ punished. Not the pretence of soft cages, which was a psychological torture that Myai was certain would drive her over the brink eventually.

Myai stopped sleeping in the bed, crawling from it each night after Zevran left, and going to the tub, where she would fill it up and curl into it, soaking. Sometimes she would doze, and not awaken until morning, usually to Hula’s frantic touches and cold water draining from the tub. When Hula would dry her off, and try to feed her, Myai had been finding of late that the food only made her ill. She wanted none of it, not even the little cups of sweet coffee and a few figs. At first, after Zevran brought her here, she had fattened up some, regaining a bit of weight that hadn’t returned to her since leaving the Circle. 

The Blight had robbed her of everything, and her captivity had given some of it back. But no longer. Sighing, she stared down at the tray, heaped with fruit in all the colors of the rainbow, and a bowl with a white, milk-based thing called ‘yogurt’. Myai pushed some of the meal around with a finger. None of it looked appetizing, almost gray as though she were viewing the items in the Fade. Even the coolness of the sliced melon was muted, as was its sweet scent. Letting her hand fall away, Myai sat still, her gaze unfocused. Hula stood beside her and scooped up a spoonful of the yogurt, her gnarled hand laying on Myai’s shoulder as she held the spoon near her mouth, urging her to eat.

“I’m not hungry,” whispering as she turned away, pushing herself from the table. 

Hula went to the wardrobe and pulled some of the beautiful dresses and saris from the carved ebony armoire, hauling them to the bed, and laying them out. She selected one and took it to Myai, who had gone back to sit in the small spill of sunlight. Glancing at Hula, whose knees snapped and cracked when she knelt, at the careworn expression on her face, Myai made herself smile. It hurt to do so, and she thought at any moment her face would shatter. 

There was a wet chill that had seeped into her room, and with a start Myai realized it must be near autumn, almost six months since Alistair had killed the Archdemon. And with Hula’s wordless pleading, Myai knew she should get dressed to ward off the cold. But she couldn’t. She tried to stand, tried to get off the marble floor to help Hula rise - all that happened was she flopped back down on her behind. With a vaguely rueful smile she waved Hula away, and stopped even making the attempt to get up. 

What would be the point anyway? Until Zevran was willing to listen to her, anything she did was utterly futile. So she curled into a ball on her side, and let sleep take her.

XXX

Myai woke to the sound of things being placed on the dining table. Figuring it was just Hula, she remained in her spot on the floor. Eventually boots - which meant Zevran, not Hula - approached. She was picked up and carried to the table, rather than the bed, which never boded well. The wood was hard, not as hard as the floor had been, but Myai knew not to move or say anything, to let Zevran cut away her nightgown and toss it to the floor. Normally when she was put on the table, she would be bound so that she couldn’t thrash or fight - or at least not much.

Opening her eyes took effort, the languor and soul weariness forced aside for the moment. Zevran placed a few small jars near her head, and opened a much larger one, whose contents he began to smear along her chest. Another moment and Myai finally noticed the sharp, bitter tang of elfroot. And then he took a brush and began _painting_ on her - shapes, symbols, twining things that at first made no sense. Then she realized it was deathroot, spiders, fanciful snakes, all things of a poisonous nature. Shivering as the brush and ink tickled over her skin, Myai clenched her hands at her sides.

“This will sting, don’t move.” This was her only warning before something pierced her skin.

Over and over, the tap-tapping came, and the repeated, moving burn that trailed along the designs, which only paused for him to rub vigorously at the tiny wounds, forcing ink into each. Minutes, hours, Myai wasn’t certain how long, but it all passed. And it didn’t stop. Not until her stomach, arms, shoulders, and down her legs were covered. 

Zevran eyed his handiwork critically, his expression craggy, and impenetrable to her searching gaze. She couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. Panting, she watched him sit on her long, odd couch, drinking a glass of wine after he washed his hands free of ink. Shortly he was back at her side, agitating the burning further, with more elfroot paste. At least she knew that would heal the marks up quickly. Rough fingers ran over her cheek and forehead, so very gently, contrasting again with the harsh treatment. Blinking up at him, Myai sighed quietly when he brushed her mouth with his own. However she knew he wasn’t finished, especially since he pushed her to roll over onto her stomach. 

And then, the travelling, burning fire flowed over her skin again.

XXX

Later, Myai curled into a ball on the table as the burning turned to itching, and then to a faint sting. The elfroot paste, or whatever concoction Zevran had used was _strong_ and she could feel her skin growing over the ink, locking it all into place. From her toes to her jaw she was tattooed, long, swirling paths of ink in blue, black, emerald, purple, lavender, blood red, pink, aubergine, edges of white here and there..... They were beautiful, and hideous in one breath, but not all of her skin was covered, so much of it was blank and pearl white, glaring at her as she inspected her hand curiously. Zevran was working behind her, the sound of chiming chain coming from her bed, and once by the table. Raising her face from the table, she glanced down to see that there were new, short chains affixed to the table, and one to the bed. 

“No more laying on the floor, Myai.” The whiskey hot burn of his voice filled her head.

Reaching out weakly towards the little square of wan light that floated on the floor, cast through the window, Myai moaned piteously. “No.... please.”

“No more sleeping in the bath either.” The rough grain of his hand wrapped about her wrist, yanking it back. “Get dressed. Now.”

Myai half-rolled, half-fell from the table, shaking and wobbling, to the armoire. She only got as far as opening it before she plunked down on her behind, and began crying. She wanted air, sunlight, companionship. Sobbing quickly turned to high-pitched whining, her throat straining around the sounds as she keened. Myai knew she couldn’t take much more of this, knew she was going mad, knew she was wasting away for want of warmth. If she just stayed still, Zevran would kiss her, stroke her, murmur into her ears softly as he took her. Sometimes. And he would still leave, robbing the vestige of momentary life from her again and again and _again_. 

Pushing at the hands that grabbed at her arms, Myai flailed, even though she knew it was futile. Still-tender skin cried out when Zevran’s hands squeezed, tightening about her arms forcefully, and Myai went lax, the fight fleeing her, draining her of what little reserves she had. She was held up against Zevran’s broad chest, and she couldn’t help but tuck her head into him, to wrap her arms about his waist. In her fragile hold, she felt him go still, stiff as a board. That brought more pain, the distance of having him so near and so far. It was like there was nothing she could do, nothing at all, to heal either one of them from her stupid mistake. 

“Please-pleaseplease _please_ Zevran.” Not heeding the smear of tears and snot she spread over his chest, Myai moaned into his shirt. “No more, please? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sorry....”

“I’ll bring more books then, some paper and ink.” His voice was so cold, like it had been since she awoke in the cellar, implacable, unmoved. “And you will eat what is put in front of you.”

Her legs lost the will to stand, and she sagged, the only thing holding her up was his hold on her. “I don’t -”

“I do not care what you _want_ Myai. You belong to me, I own you. You will do as I say.” Like the sound of a pyre’s crackling, Zevran’s words rang with finality. 

XXX

She obediently spread her legs, moaning at the sensation of his tongue lapping at her folds. The tickling pressure came when he pulled back, working the rosebud tip of the sound into her urethra. Myai hated that it felt good, hated that she felt dirty when he did this particular act, hated his total control. It was torture, and it was something Zevran seemed to like to do. There was the time a month ago after her inability to eat when he had forced a leather tube down her throat, pouring food through a funnel, forcing her to eat. He had warned her that he could make her do anything. That he could control every inch of her body, with or without her permission. The humiliation of having been force-fed like that, several days in a row, drove the point home. Disobedience wouldn’t be tolerated, and there was simply no use at all in not doing exactly what he told her.

Myai felt the weight of Zevran attaching the small rune to the loop on the rod, the subsequent shocks going off behind her clit and all around it, deep inside, giving her a feeling like nothing else she had experienced. The strange belt Zevran had fashioned went around her waist and thighs, holding the sound in the proper alignment, while adding the bruisingly sized phallus attachment inside of her channel, and she writhed, unable to stop her helpless, shameful and whorish moans. Theere was the soft slap of his bare feet on the floor, walking away. She made herself drunkenly roll over, trailing him on hands and knees, the leash that hung from her collar tugged, demanding she follow. 

The weight of her breasts swung, and the floor was so cold, even through the rugs that gouged and rubbed her dragging knees. It was the rocking and rolling motion of her, slinking slowly towards him that made everything shift inside, and Myai knew she was soaking wet. It was a heavy musk that hung on the air, cloying, so thick that she thought she might gag. In anticipation she knew her ass was flexing, along with every muscle that she had to force to crawl to Zevran’s form, now lounging on the bed. 

Whimpering, as she knew an orgasm was trying to break free, Myai struggled to climb atop the bed, where Zevran waited nude, his manhood glistening with oil as he massaged it one-handed. Biting her lip, Myai dug her fingers into the thick comforter, unable to tear her eyes from his tattooed body. How many times had she imagined him during the Blight? She had pieced together what he might look like from all the times she healed him, but the reality was much more frightening and enticing. And it was all he would allow her. Myai hungered for any form of connection to him, even as she burned with humiliation, dipping her face close to the thick heat of his cock.

“Earn it.” His voice was like a whipcrack, striking at her with those two words and the hand that pushed her face away.

Shuddering, Myai met his eyes briefly, stuttering, “H-how _Maestro_?”

“Roll over, show me your cunt.” She quickly moved to obey the order.

On her back, legs spread once more, Myai pulled her labia apart, displaying her stuffed sex to his gaze. “Y-yes _Maestro_.”

“Filthy.” The word was punctuated by a smack over the base that filled her vagina. “Disgusting.” Another smack and she let out a short cry. 

The shocks never changed intensity, unending, tireless in their assault on the nerves of her sex. Fingers closed over the hood of her clit, pushing the thin skin back to show the tiny pearl that hid there. She screamed in earnest when he dragged his teeth over the little bundle several times, before spitting on her abused flower.

“P-please _Maestro_ ,” whimpering, not knowing what she was asking for. “Please?”

Myai never knew what she was asking for anymore.

The sound was rotated in and out after he loosened the clamps that held it snug. “You think you deserve something? Well, you don’t.” Her throat constricted on a cry as he yanked the rod free. “I tell you what to think, what to feel. Every little piece of you is under my control, isn’t it?” 

There was a thin tube, long and hollow, leather, and so thin, barely big enough for water to pass through. Myai held still, keeping herself spread for whatever Zevran’s pleasure was. Waiting, she tried not to tense as the tube was slid into her, replacing the sound. It was eased in, and she shook as it went deeper than the metal sounds had. She felt it twisting once it worked its way deeper and deeper, and then it shifted, and Myai thrashed. It was in her bladder, and since it was hollow, she was held open, anything could come out. A clamp went over the end as he finished pushing it into her, keeping the thin hose closed. 

“Now-” His voice sounding as though it came from some far off place as she fought to lock the tube in place on her own, not wanting to lose her water, “-touch yourself.”

Gritting her teeth, Myai stroked the sides of her ridge as he held her lips open, and the bed shifted under her as he moved, his knees to either side of her head. Beyond that she had no warning of him sinking down, but she knew he liked his testicles licked. So Myai scrunched her eyes closed, performing dutifully and when he moved, she tried to follow with her tongue, but instead was left lapping at the ring of muscles that sat behind his sac. She heard him groan low and harsh, the weight of his cock smacking her throat and collarbone as he rocked against her mouth. 

A tweak on her pearl drew her attention. “Use your tongue and hands.”

Doing as she was told, Myai released herself to part his buttocks, rewarded or tortured for the action by Zevran’s mouth descending on her. She kept her eyes closed, swirling the wet muscle of her tongue along the rim and pushing in, the growl between her thighs sending vibrations through her core. Mewling with each flick and suck, she matched his pace until she could no longer hold in her cries of release. Leaning up she pushed her tongue into his pucker to muffle her keening that she couldn’t stop as he began moving the hollow tube in little thrusts. Everything thrummed behind, around and inside her sex, so hard that not one muscle wasn’t quaking. 

There was tugging on the short hairs of her womanhood, long fingers combing over her mound, and the wet sound of Zevran’s mouth sucking filled the air. Myai didn’t know how much of that she could take, and it probably wasn’t much, yet she knew Zevran would continue until _he_ was satisfied with the evening, no matter her will. Reflexively she fought to hang onto his hips as he pulled away, but Myai relinquished her hold at the warning growl she was given. 

A yank on her leash forced her to sit up. “Come here.”

Rising to her knees, Myai scooted close to Zevran, waiting while he fondled her breasts and ran his hands over her body. Her breath caught when he pulled her in close, his tongue filling her mouth, arms winding around her waist, and Myai sagged against him, unable stop her hands from seeking his shoulders. She half expected him to break away snarling, but he didn’t, which emboldened her to stroke over the warm, broad expanse. This was the first time he had allowed such contact, and Myai reveled in it. The vibration of an approving hum worked through her, and she gradually sought out more territory, mapping his back, wary of overstepping whatever line Zevran had put in the sand without her knowing. He was never clear on what she could and couldn’t do, she would only find out if she pushed too far. 

She was held close to him as he sank back on the bed, drawing her along, and Myai had to shift to maintain her balance, knees framing his strong, narrow hips. If only he would allow her to have more of this, Myai was sure she wouldn’t continue her descent into bleak depression. Yet Myai knew she couldn’t count on it. So she followed his wordless direction, as his mouth moved from hers to her neck and shoulders. Rising to her knees, the blunt tip of his cock nudged at her anus, and she sank down to the thick base, her head tipped back at the stretching sting of muscles. Beneath her his hips rose up, meeting hers as he ground her against him. Whimpering, Myai sank forward, her palms sliding over his chest. Rising and falling and circling her hips as she filled herself with him over and over again. Myai whined until Zevran leaned up, capturing her lips briefly. 

Panting as the bliss began thrumming deep behind her pelvic bone, she slipped, not remembering to call him _Maestro_. “Zevran,” moaning, tears squeezing from her clenched eyelids as she rode his cock. “Zevran.” His name became a litany until she fell from the precipice.

Below her, he flexed, rolling her onto her back, his callused hands keeping her hips tilted as he continued thrusting. Biting her lip, Myai flailed, wrapping her arms about his broad shoulders, unable to keep the keening caused by the crashing of her nerves back any longer, his name on her lips with each lunge. Struggling, she opened her streaming eyes to watch Zevran bunch and curl as he worked himself in and out of her quivering body. The look of concentration on his face, the way his teeth sank into his bottom lip - it was too much. Arching, Myai took hold of his face and kissed him, unable to stop herself. Expecting him to punish her when he tore his mouth away from hers, instead she heard his breathing going ragged as he panted, his face in her neck.

“Myai, _amora mia, toda la mina, toda la mina, Myai, querida, amo, amo._ ” Each word was moaned into her neck, his pace picking up. 

Clinging to him, Myai whimpered as he went still, and she felt the heat of his seed releasing in her ass. When his hand went between them, she half expected pain, instead what she received were gentle caresses to her nubbin, coupled with his mouth on her ear. Panting, Myai let confusion be washed away by the soft tide of a lapping orgasm. Drifting on that high, she barely noticed him removing the thin leather tube and the harness. It wasn’t until he gathered in his arms that Myai noticed what he was doing: that he was pulling her beneath the covers, that he was curling up against her, his hands moving in long, slow strokes over her body. Myai fell asleep in Zevran’s arms, hoping that the morrow would bring about more good things.

XXX

Good things didn’t come. 

It was only more of the same. The same routine each morning, where she would barely taste her food, and read books that had words that no longer made sense, or scribble madly onto paper, saying and writing things that she couldn’t be sure of. A routine that kept her literally chained to either the divan, the table or the bed. The only times she was free of the manacle that sat around her foot were when she bathed or whenever Zevran unlocked her. 

It meant no more sitting in that little square of sunshine. 

She was in the Tower all over again, but with no one to talk to, and no way to move around or pace. The outside world slipped away, and so did her will. There were times when she stared at the pot of ink, wondering how much of it she would have to drink before it killed her. It would be her only escape, and a way to stop Zevran from sinking lower and lower into whatever hell he was in. A hell she had put him in. Anger would come from time to time, where she would rail at him, at least in writing, and she would feel that her guilt was misplaced. Others, she would be coldly logical, the healers’ mentality returning with clarity and she would know, for certain, that her ignorance and his past were to blame. 

Morrigan had once warned her that the wrong push would make Zevran step off into the dark abyss. That cryptic warning came the last night in Redcliffe. Myai had agreed with her that the wrong tap to the Antivan’s exterior would leave him shattered, but looking back, she knew it was for the wrong reasons. The Wild’s witch had sought to sway her, to encourage her to push Alistair to lay and make a child with her. For Myai to spare herself, to spare Alistair and Zevran both. Myai had decided she would take the final blow, make the killing strike, and then everyone would be free.

Instead, her innocent friend lost his life, and the man she loved more than anything had been thrust the final steps into the Pit. Zevran and she both were in a free fall, that neither could free themselves of. And she saw no way out for either of them. So she kept trying, kept clinging, hoping, praying to anything that would listen that some opportunity would present itself for her to show him that she honestly loved him. And not the twisted love he expected to gain from breaking her down. 

But her mind, her will... they were slipping.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
Zevran (5150)  
XXX

Hula interrupted his reading, wringing her hands. With a small frown, Zevran motioned her to wait a moment, so that he could finish going over the contract that quite a few of the Crow Masters had signed. Of course Hula’s presence heralded issues with Myai, but she would have to wait, as the information on the hearty parchment was a life or death issue. His progress towards the title of Guildmaster was going along at a healthy clip, Ignacio, Slavail, Cesar, Etinez, Marta and Pilar having added their seals to back him in his bid.

Of course, given the opportunity any or all of them would betray him at a moment’s notice. Except Ignacio. Possibly. The Crow Master had a fondness for Myai, and pestered him ceaselessly for an audience. And it was an audience Zevran would not grant. At least not until he was sure of Myai and her loyalties to him were fully enforced. He wouldn’t tolerate giving her a chance to do him harm again. She had come to Antiva, seeking him, of her own free will. If she had remained in Ferelden he wouldn’t have bothered, perhaps he would at some later date have sent some Crows for her, but she had come, negating that necessity. 

Seeing that things were in order, he rose and followed the worried slave woman to Myai’s apartment. The back end of his hacienda was closed off from the rest of the estate, and was frigid by comparison. But to someone who had gone through two winters in Ferelden it was merely chilly. Passing the two silent guards who stood at the door that lead to the short hallway, Zevran had to wonder what sort of trouble Myai had gotten herself into.

After all, there wasn’t much she could do other than read or write. She could scream until she was hoarse, and none would hear her. She could bang on the door or walls and no one would notice, not through the thick walls. There was no brazier for her to tip over and start a fire - though he did worry over the chill in her room. She was a slight thing, but that was why he ensured she had so many blankets for warmth. Lately she had taken to kicking all the blankets far away from the bed and the reach of her short chain. 

Pushing the door open, he saw what had Hula so upset. 

Myai was nude upon the floor beside her bed, her leg on the mattress still, manacled as it was to the heavy post. Moving towards her, the red flush all over her skin, which peeked through the webbing of ink he had inlaid her flesh, was alarming. Sinking down he rested the back of his hand against her forehead. Dry, hot, and clammy all at once.

Quickly he unlocked the delicate padlock and motioned for Hula to bring him the bedding, which he wrapped her in tightly, laying her back upon the bed. 

Fevered eyes cracked open, her voice a croaking whisper, “Zev...Zev...”

Pain lanced through him seeing Myai like this. Swallowing thickly, Zevran curled over her, eyes clenched shut. He hadn’t let the Archdemon take her from him and he wasn’t about to let a winter illness do it either. Zevran had let her go twice; he wouldn’t do it again. He couldn’t. It would destroy him utterly.

XXX

Zevran took to sleeping in bed with her, somewhat against his will. But it was the only way to monitor Myai, to ensure she slept, to ensure she drank the medicines he pushed past her dry lips. Sometimes she was almost lucid. Tears would spring to her eyes, she would hold out her shaking hands to him, burning like brands on his soul. Those were the worst, far more so than her ravings and moans of apologies and nonsensical explanations.

“..So stupid, so stupid... why didn’t I see?” muffled murmurs came from the vicinity near his elbow.

Glancing down, he watched Myai’s head rock side to side, each twitch a bare quiver, her lips working around words. Setting his book down in his lap, Zevran brushed his fingers over her brow. The fever had been tamed from its worst heights of danger, but for two weeks Myai had been feverish off and on. Although her temperature never got as hot as before, she also didn’t quite recover either. He was getting to a point where he thought perhaps he should call in a healing mage, but that would mean revealing that he had Myai imprisoned. He was cognizant Ignacio already believed this to be true, it didn’t matter how often Zevran denied Myai’s presence. After all, Ignacio was aware of the fact that Myai had arrived in Antiva from Ferelden after receiving a message from him, and that she had been searching for him almost as soon as she landed on Antiva’s shores, before she disappeared.

“...love him so much, why? Why did it happen?” Her brown eyes popped open, tears sliding from the corners to her temples. 

Biting his lip, Zevran contained his own pained hiss. She was _still_ pining for Alistair, nine months after the _shemlen_ had died. Inside his chest, his heart tripped over itself, making him feel sick, so sick. Eventually Zevran would find some way to blot out those memories, to turn her gaze away from the dead Warden, and make her see _him_ again. 

Of course it wouldn’t be the free flowing love, but a beaten down thing, a glimmer of what Zevran had dared to crave from her. Myai herself would be a shadow of the woman he had fallen in love with, a faint husk, just as she was now. But she would be bent to a shape that would never hurt him, and he would take care of her, give her as much as he had to give. He could almost understand Mafareth’s betrayal of Andraste, but the man had been a barbarian lacking any finesse to woo his woman away from the Maker. 

Under the blankets, Myai’s shaking hand travelled and slipped from under the covers as her head rolled towards him, searching. Recognition flared and hope alongside it. That was the worst sometimes, when she would look at him with that great overflowing of understanding like she used to. It was that expression that had kept him by her side, and now it made Zevran want to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Longing for her hands to reach down and touch his cheeks, to wipe the filth of his life away. 

As if she sensed that desire in him, her hand rose, shaking to touch his jaw. “Zev-raan...?”

Swallowing thickly, he caught her hand and kept it pressed to him. “Shhh Myai. Rest.”

“So...-vran.....” her lids slipping shut as the fever dreams dragged her down once more.

After he was sure she was down for the count, he slid from the bed and poured himself a glass of wine. Draining it off in a single draught, Zevran stared vacantly at the bottle, debating finishing it. There wasn’t enough drink or drugs to numb his agony. The rage was long since replaced by more pain and a numbing emptiness that made him question whether continuing to breathe was even worth it. It would be so simple to modify the dose of Myai’s medicine and turn it from a potion of healing to a poison. And then so easy to then take his own life and simply be done with it all. It was said that in the Fade two spirits could find each other and carry on as they had in life. 

It was that thought alone that made Zevran’s hand halt as he reached for his supplies. Surely in the Fade she would seek out Alistair and not him. Not until he had ensured that she was as attached to him as possible could he dare to allow either of them to slip to the Fade. Collapsing on the chair, he let his head thud on the table and sobbed although no tears came. They had long since dried up.

XXX

_...There was something about his smile, brittle and sharp beneath all that heat he put out like a blazing sun. I saw him and I_ knew _there was truly a sun in this Maker damned world. But I didn’t notice the sharp, cutting edges, not until I was used to him, not until I had heard him speak to the others, and the way he spoke to me. He was like a solar eclipse, and I stared directly at him in wonder, not noticing, not caring that he robbed me of sight of anything, anyone else other than him._

_I saw him and I remembered what life was like inside the Tower, but only barely. He was my green grass, my warmth, my safety, my everything. All I wanted was to show him how dear he was to me,_ is _to me. To ease those sharp edges and blunt them, even if it had to be in my own flesh. To have wronged him so, how could I have done that? Why am I here, being broken and bent and twisted and warped? Does the Maker hate mages so much that any chance we have for good in our lives is shattered and rent asunder? It doesn’t matter that I slaved to end a Blight, that I made every decision in my life for the greater good, that I have gave myself over to being a healer, a source of life rather than one of destruction... Still it seems that I must be punished by the Maker. That which is done to my body and mind are nothing, that is tolerable. It is the cost to the one person I would have done anything for, the one person I_ did _everything for, he has born the brunt of agony and the Maker’s wrath._

The lines of ink from her writings were shivery and spidery, and hard on his eyes. Up until now he had refrained from invading these private thoughts of Myai’s, afraid of what he might find. And Zevran was proved correct in his fears. So much was about _Alistair_ , though never specifically named, and the other bits were about the Maker’s punishment to mages who were filled with folly and pride. Misery and pain bled from each page, making him ill. If only she had loved him instead of Alistair, Zevran would have wiped all that away, to never, ever let her think less of herself because of her powers. Too often had he felt the soothing balm of her touch over gaping wounds, smoothing the ragged flesh into place,easing his agony, for him to _ever_ believe that her Talent was a curse. 

But she wrote of Alistair, who was a _Templar_ in all but vows, a dutiful man-child who believed firmly in the Chantry’s idiocy. Such a partnership would have only fueled her self-hate, and belief that she was unworthy. It was for that, almost as much as robbing Myai’s virginity and taking her attention from him, that Zevran hated Alistair.

There was a sigh from the bed, and he turned to glance at Myai who tossed in the throes of dream, blankets kicked aside. In her ravings Zevran searched for the key that could possibly be used to turn her gaze and thoughts from dead Alistair and to him. To him who loved her, to the point that it made him mad and depraved. There was no undoing what damage he had done to her, lashing out in his wounded rage, but perhaps he could do _something_. Any hope at all was worth wading through these crazed scribblings, no matter how they only deepened the pit in his soul and made him wish for nothing more than to end everything. Zevran himself may be unworthy, but there was no way he would risk Myai spending an eternity in the Fade bound to that _Templar_.

“Zevran!” His name a broken cry on her lips as she bolted upright, hands reaching and flailing.

Veritably flying from the chair, Zevran gathered Myai up, crushing her to his chest as she sobbed nonsense. At least it is him she cried out for, that was some progress, some sign. As usual she quieted quickly, the burst of energy failing her as rapidly as it came upon her. Zevran took the time to pour broth into her, spooning carefully bits of barley and meat into her mouth. Followed by warm milk and honey laden with potent elixirs to break her fever, to strengthen her blood and bone. Helping her to the bathroom, Zevran assisted her in voiding her body of wastes, and cleaned her up as though she were not much more than a babe. She fell asleep sitting on the toilet, her head tucked on his shoulder, arms limp at her sides. Once he had her resituated in the bed, Zevran returned to reading over her private thoughts and madness.

_...With all the things I learned in the Tower, all the knowledge I gathered inside that edifice and out in the real world, all those decisions I made... So many lives depended on the turning of a spell, a single, minuscule decision. Mistakes. I never made a single one. Not one misstep. I was as all knowing and wise as an Archon was supposed to be. I had the Maker’s gifts at my disposal. I had the knowledge of ages at my fingertips. I thought I knew the best course of action. Always. Even when I was afraid or confused, I always saw the path to the light, the way to lead us to safety. I had to. He was counting on me._

_I broke him._

_I shattered him._

_In so doing, I damned us both._

_If it had just been my life in the balance, if it was only myself who would bear punishment and judgment for my foolhardy belief that I always knew what to do, I could tolerate this as a joyful burden. Instead, my friend lost everything, my love was destroyed in all ways, leaving us these empty husks. I’m going mad, I miss his sunshine. I miss the breath over my hand as he would say my name when I touched his cheek. No rescue will come, there is nothing but this Black City, this single room. Empty pleasures that my body no longer fights against, no words I am allowed to say other than_ ‘Maestro’ _. Names and feelings and words are forbidden to me. As is his light, his smiles, and fresh air._

_I must hang on, I must find a way, not for myself, but because I love him._

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zevran growled softly. The writings were sickening in their content, their meanings, for the monster they painted him as. Her jailer. Her torturer. He was those things and worse. 

But the last thought, it was a perfect echo of how he felt. _I must hang on, I must find a way, not for myself, but because I love her._ It summed everything up in a neat Feastday package, replete with ribbons and wrappings. 

XXX

He guided her to the back garden, having made sure that none of his servants or slaves would be there. News would probably travel to Ignacio somehow, it always did. The Crow Master, who had finally ceased his requests of information about Myai, would once more take up pestering him. But Zevran would find a way to side-step him or, at this point, simply kill him outright. The Crow Master was very useful, but if the old man continued to question him Zevran would have him removed and replaced. 

It was a rare day in late winter or early spring depending on the vantage point, and while the sky was overcast, the rain for the day had passed and the sun was a shadowed purple disc in the sky. Sitting her down on the cushioned bench, Zevran unbound her blindfold. The marble table had an early dinner spread, a pot of the heavily spiced milk tea and one of strongly brewed _cafe_ , several plates of small finger foods, and a platter of _paella_ with mussels. 

Myai blinked rapidly, her head turning this way and that as she scanned the gardens. Before she could twist around to see their abode, Zevran reached out and grabbed her chin. “Food first, look later.”

She stared down at the food, almost as though she didn’t comprehend what to do with it. Shifting on his own seat, Zevran leaned over and held up a shrimp that had been grilled with olive oil, garlic and lemon, to her lips, urging her to eat. He watched as she opened her mouth obediently, and Zevran repressed a relieved sigh. Her illness had drained her to the point where she was barely more than a breath on the wind, and unlike when she had been starving herself, he couldn’t punish her. An illness was something that he could only do battle with, and do his best to stave it off, but disobedience could be forced into proper behavior. Once she finished the small morsel, Zevran held up a spoon filled with saffron yellow rice, sprinkled with bits of tomato and other small vegetables, silently pressing her to eat.

Satisfied that she would manage on her own, he turned his visible focus onto his own end of the meal. “The flowers may not be in bloom, but they will be soon.”

It felt odd to speak to her in such a casual manner, he hadn’t done it in so long. The way Myai’s eyes darted up to him, her spoon held halfway to her mouth bespoke her own shock that he had uttered anything other than an order. He had to turn her eyes from Alistair and from the belief that being a mage was a curse. In this way, she could be bound to him instead. 

When she didn’t respond other than to nod, Zevran fought down an instinctively testy reply, instead he smoothed it into gentler tones. “You may speak Myai.”

The flick of her tongue along her bottom lip drew his eye. “I’m not sure what it was that I did that made this happen.”

A muscle twitched in his back, this was _not_ the topic of conversation he had been hoping for. “You were ill and I thought perhaps being outdoors for a brief time would do you some good,” purposefully steering the conversation as he could.

“No,” shaking her head briefly, her long ebony hair slipping around her shoulders. “I... I gathered that.” Myai had to visibly gather her resolve as she clutched the silver handle of her spoon, “I don’t... I don’t understand how you were pushed... to... to capture me like this.”

Reaching for his glass of wine, Zevran masked his scowl with the rim, needing to fortify himself. She was poking at that tangled knot of grief and anguish that was his sole fuel to carry on. Even though it had been more than a year since she had turned away from him, shunning his private company at every turn, he was still raw. It would never fade away, instead it would always lay just below the surface.

“I know... accepting Alistair’s offer pushed you to anger,” her voice soft and trembling, but there was determination in every line of her vibrating body. “I was stupid,and foolish. I did it because I loved you.”

It took a monumental effort of will for Zevran to not throw his glass to the ground as she shoved a verbal hot poker into his anguish and stirred it to life. 

Taking great pains to set the glass down gently, “You went to another man because you loved me? My dear Warden, I thought we were past the point where you thought I was easily swayed by pretty words. I am no fool, do not take me for one. Listen to yourself - you love someone, so you go to another in his stead? How does that sound? Like a lie, which is what it is.”

Myai flinched, her pale skin flushing in what he had no doubt was anger and shame. “You told me about Rinna.”

That stung worse than any whipcrack. It was as though she had taken Alistair’s shield and slammed it against his face with all the force her vast magic could summon. “Yes, I did. And we are finished with this topic.”

“No, no we’re _not_ ,” she shivered, drawing herself up under the weight of his anger. 

It was an aspect of her he had admired and found enchanting, as well as beautiful, the way she would stand up even when she flinched in fear. They both knew she would pay for ignoring his warning. But Zevran didn’t know what _he_ would do. He was frightened - of himself, of her, and what he could so easily be driven to do _to_ her. He had thought himself leashed enough for this undertaking. It appeared he wasn’t.

“Yes, we are Myai,” beginning to stand, to lean over and grab the blindfold. 

Her hand on his cheek froze him in place, forced him to meet her eyes. “Love had hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t think you could have any feelings for me, or that if you could, those feelings would only endanger you.”

“And so you went to Alistair who was your sun, your moon, and every breath of fresh air you had ever had,” snarling at her. “Because you thought you were _sparing_ me? If you seek to _spare_ me anything - make sure it is your platitudes!”

He saw the truth in how she recoiled as though he had already smacked her, which he was very close to doing. The surge of emotion coursing through his veins leaving him taut and shuddering needing to reign himself in somehow. The way she couldn’t look at him, spoke of how she had just lied to him. Even still, even after all the time he had spent trying to at least prevent her from insulting his intelligence and his ability to see through such obvious lies and lashing out the gaping maw she had left in his chest, that place his heart resided still. If it could be called a heart.

“It’s not what you think,” Myai mumbled, wrapping her arms about herself. 

Narrowly he avoided striking her, instead he slapped his hand sharply on the table. The loud crack of his palm impacted he marble table and the resulting clatter of dishes was a cacophony. It was almost enough to make the haze in his eyes recede. But not nearly enough. No, nothing was enough for that.

“Then tell me _amora_ what it is? The very night I tell you of Rinna and my greatest pain, _trusting_ you with ever fibre of my being, you finally give in to that spineless creature and your own cravings,” his grip on the table went white knuckled as he forced his body to obey him and sit. “And when I go to seek you out, to explain - what do I hear? I hear you allowing that... that... _cabrone_ to _paw_ at you!” 

“I was confused and hurting!” Myai cried, her head turned away from him, blood coming from her bottom lip as she bit it so hard the skin split.

“ _You_ were confused and hurting? _You_? After more than a year in my company, entrancing _me_ with your manner and words? It was not _I_ who reached out and crushed the poor offerings you had to give! Oh, you had me well and truly fooled, Myai, a masterful deceit.” Shaking his head, Zevran swallowed the acid that burnt the back of his throat. “Raised on sex and intrigue as I was, I fell for the oldest ploy in the book. Was it to keep an eye on the Crow and earn his loyalty so you need not fear blades in the dark? Or merely a pleasant game? Or--” snapping his fingers as though he had just come up with the thought, “perhaps a way to make that lumbering oaf jealous?” Snorting in disgust, Zevran’s mouth ran away from him, “Playing the innocent, sweet and caring card, and I bought it, hook, line and sinker. It was stupid of me to think for a single moment that anyone would find me useful for more than their games and diversions. But I did, and that is my fault.”

Myai shook her head furiously in denial, “No that’s not-”

Snagging her chin, Zevran snapped her mouth closed and waved a finger in her face. “Oh no, no you do not get to lie to me any longer! You prodded a beast far more dangerous than you knew, and now, this is the price you pay for my attention. You are _mine, querida_ , and I won’t be letting you go. You will learn to live with it, and you will learn to love me. I may be a beast, but I am one with needs now, you held up a beautiful dream and I trusted and _believed_ in you. I have taken my anger out on you, wrecked similar havoc upon your flesh as you did to my fragmented soul. But don’t doubt for one moment that while I am not currently playing such games, that I won’t resume them at a moment’s notice.”

He watched her crumble, the defeat in the slump of her shoulders. And it brought no joy. No triumph. 

“I turned to Alistair so you could be _free_ ,” her voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry Zevran... So sorry.”

Reeling away from her before rocking forward, Zevran stood, and wrapped the blindfold over her eyes too fast to think about it and hauled her to her feet, "You should not say such things when you don't even _understand_ their meaning!"

XXX

He had managed to keep himself from doing more than throwing her towards the table, and Myai stumbled, blindfolded still and caught herself on the edge of it. Striding the few steps to grab up the parchment, Zevran crumpled it in his hands angrily. In his hands he had all the proof of Myai’s unreasoning adoration of Alistair. 

Selecting the one at the top he read it aloud, spitting the words at her in accusation, “ _He was always there when I needed him most, ready to shield me from everything and anything that came my way. It didn’t seem to bother him that with my Fade shroud that nothing could touch me, that I had the finest armor on par with Wade’s greatest work, he still would move before me or duck into the blows that might land._ ”

Myai slid to the floor at his feet, shaking her head, “No - no, that was--”

“And here, another thing!” yelling, cutting over her soft voice as he tossed the first paper down and read from another. “ _Whenever he looked at me, I knew I was safe, that he would do nothing to ever harm me. Instead now, I am here, and all I see is illness that I can’t cure. None of my healers arts work, I am sundered from the Fade and am helpless to do what I thought I was so good at._ ”

He watched as Myai reached out, snagging him by the leg and pressed her face into his thigh, her arms holding fast as she turned her blinded face up at him. “Those are about _you_!”

Going still suddenly, Zevran stared down at her. “You mock me,” his throat constricting tightly. “You mock me, _querida_ , you mock my pain.”

“No! No!” Slim fingers clenched at his pants leg, “I was writing about _you_!”

Shuddering in horror, Zevran struggled to maintain the rage while still keeping it in check. She spoke lies. It was the only explanation. How cruel Myai was to throw such a thing out at him. Thrusting his hand into her hair, he hauled her to her feet, shoving her to the bed. The ravening beast was awake and searching for an outlet to direct the blast of wretchedness that was strangling him. Myai scrambled onto her back, scooting away from him, but Zevran followed, his knees gouging the mattress. Lunging forward, he pinned her beneath him, the pain demanding satisfaction, demanding that he silence her lies.

Hissing at her, “I’m not _stupid_ Myai! _No one_ would ever think those things about someone like _me_!” 

Under him she arched, her imprisoned hands struggling in his grip, “I do! I--”

Crashing his mouth over hers, Zevran cut off anything she could say, his tongue delving into the wet cavern. Myai thrashed, the silk of her skirts tangling around his legs as she fought to wrap them around his thighs. This his body knew and his mind was aware of the fact that he had made her flesh so attuned to him that it would respond even now. Releasing one delicate wrist so he could hike up her skirts, he snarled against her lips when her hand went to his neck, keeping him pressed close so she could return the brutality of his kiss with softness. Wrenching free of her lips, Zevran finished shoving her skirts up and pulled himself from his trews, teeth sinking into the side of her neck. The bucking of her hips forced him to slide into her wet sheath instead of her ass and Zevran howled at the heat of her clamping down on him. 

Myai froze, her mouth open in a keen, shaking under him. Zevran snapped, unable to pull free, his body surging forward, in and out of the barely moist flesh of her sex. With rolling lunges, Zevran sank himself to the hilt, bruising his tip against her womb, working in a struggling, battling mass against Myai’s softness. Her legs held him like vises refusing to let him go far. Moaning into the pointed shell of her ear, he lost himself in her body, claiming the one part of her that he had kept himself from. He barely felt his release as pleasure, more as an outpouring of pain and punishment, even as Myai whimpered, her muscles rippling along his length, milking him. Sagging against her, eyes clenched shut, Zevran waited out his shuddering. 

Finally he tore himself away from her and fled, not bothering to do more than lock her door.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
Myai (6480)  
XXX

She knew he probably wouldn’t come to dinner. So, Myai didn’t expect it. Sometimes he left for long stretches of time, only to return without her knowing until he would arrive with her dinner. And so, she didn’t fret for the first week of his absence. A flare of hope had renewed the flame in her breast, burning away the darkness in her mind. Full sanity was returning, as she saw the potential for an end to the illness that plagued her and Zevran. 

An illness, that is what it was in the end. There were too many ‘if only’s and Myai could easily get caught up in them,.With her renewed vigor, she instead turned her eyes to solving the issue directly. So she had picked up her scattered papers, and begun writing once more, this time adding notes and questions. Ones that asked him to examine the words and descriptions and how in the Maker’s name they could _possibly_ have anything to do with Alistair. To her it was all utterly obvious, but apparently not so to Zevran.

Sighing, she set her quill down, blowing gently on the ink before sanding it and setting it aside to finish drying. Chewing her lip, the young healer stared blankly at a new page, ordering her thoughts. With a faint smile an idea came to her, and the tip of her quill scratched against the parchment.

 _I remember the first time I saw you, Zevran, covered in wounds, bloody and laughing in the dirt. The fight was finished, and I had to struggle against my training while surrounded by the others. They would expect me to gain information from you, as would you, but everything that made me a healer, everything that made me_ me _, demanded I remove your armor and pour mana into you immediately. But you were laughing, quipping at your fate, even as your life poured from you. Your voice was like a warm buzz from a bumblebee, hypnotic and comforting even as you were dying._

 _Apart from the healer inside me, I could only admire your strength. So certain you were that you would die, that you_ should _die. It hurt, particularly when your skin, your voice, your hair, all of it spoke of sunshine and freedom. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to actually stand there and question you? At that moment you weren’t a threat, you weren’t trying to kill myself or the others. You were just a wounded man, who knew things about the world I could only guess at._

_The flavor of your lifethread, I felt it thrumming beneath my hands when it was finally acceptable in the others’ eyes to heal you. So much energy, it was like you were lyrium given solid form, I was drunk off of it even as I drained my magic into you. It didn’t matter that the others questioned my decision, it felt right. I used reason with them, when I had no reason to give to my own mind that was logical. Only the fact that Ferelden was damp and rainy grey, and every piece of yourself that you showed me was like a breath of warmth and flowers and sunshine, and to me that was reason enough._

_When you flirted with me, I didn’t know it was flirting. I thought it was just funny compliments, like what you bestowed upon the others. It wasn’t until that one day when you took me aside, your hand practically swallowing mine, guiding me towards the side of the trail and pointed to a halla foraging for greens, that I realized you were showing me something utterly different than what you exposed to the others. You didn’t touch them, but you touched me. Maybe that’s just a foolish girl’s fancy, but it was in that moment as your voice was hushed, whispering to me to not make any noise to scare off that beautiful creature, that I knew I would do anything to see you smile._

_It was a frightening thought. Can you believe that Zevran? Me, a person who could blast flesh from bone, and had learned the arts of our ancient forefathers to become an Arcane Warrior, was frightened by something. But it’s true, I was terrified of everything. When Duncan took me from the tower and a light drizzle started, I thought the world was going to end, and I scrambled half up his back while fat rain drops landed on my head. Another time, I saw a bear, and I thought it was a dog. Something friendly. I only narrowly got away from_ that _potentially nasty end because Duncan came and shot it. By the time we reached Ostagar, Iwas still alternating between being enchanted or terrified of the world around me._

 _Nothing fixed that. Not until you. Not until you pointed out little bunches of herbs that were_ alive _instead of the dried roots I was used to. You showed me the wonder of the world and its little eccentricities. You made it safe to walk straight under the sky, and not have to wear a mask. I was made leader because Alistair was too grief stricken to lead, when he was the one who knew the world and I didn’t. I had to take on that mantle and not show any of the great fear I had, because that would weaken us. As a healer and as a mage, I was taught that fear would lead to downfall and ruin. So I no longer had an option to admit to it._

_Do you remember that one time when I slipped and skinned my knee when we were fording that overflowing stream? I called it an evil river and you laughed, already hiking my robes up to take a look at my knee to spread poultice on it. I could have healed myself with a mere thought, but I sat there and let you tend to my insignificant scrape, just so I could feel you touching me. It didn’t matter that I was all muddy, and that my feet would blister later, and that I was sodden from taking that inglorious spill into the water... It only mattered that you were there, tutting over my clumsiness with a grin._

_Later that night you asked me to your tent. I wanted to go, really I did. But I wasn’t sure what you were offering, and if I should take anything. A massage sounded wonderful, I was achy and sore, and I’m fairly sure my nose was runny along with my chapped face and blistered feet. All I wanted was to be near you, feeling safe and warm. But I was afraid that I couldn’t give you anything in return. Did you hear Wynne and Alistair talking that day? About how mages could marry, but what sort of person would tie themselves to a mage, what future could there be? The day before that, Wynne said she had had a son, taken from her as soon as he was born, she hadn’t even had a chance to hold him. What could I give you? Nothing. I was an abomination, bound to give birth to more, and you, you deserved concrete things. Things I wasn’t able to give you, because that’s what I had always been told._

_I wanted you to be free, to be happy, to have a chance at things that your life thus far hadn’t given you._

_And then... you told me about Rinna. You told me how you had sought death. That you had tried to use my hand, my_ healer’s _hand to be the one to strike you down. All I could see then was that love had hurt you. Harmed you irreparably. And I realized, no matter how misguided that realization was, that you were ‘better off’ without ever risking yourself again. My fear and my lack of trust, it... it did this. I’m still just a mage, and if I were able to have children, they would still be taken away. But when you told me how you had wanted to die, how you were crushed - I didn’t hear, couldn’t hear, you saying that ‘this’, meaning whatever it was you and I shared, was what changed it for you. All I could hear was that I was a danger to you, a thousandfold._

_As soon as I came to that decision, it felt as though I had reached into my own breast and ripped my heart out. But I did it, I did it for you. I couldn’t heal you. I had nothing to offer you. No future at all. My heart would be something that could hurt you. I died that day. I only hung on hoping that there would be a way to end the Blight and give you the opportunity to find some semblance of freedom and life. And then Riordan told me the cost of ending a Blight._

_Then.... Then I knew what I could do. I could set my friend up in the station he was more suited to than he knew, and I could set you_ free _and I would no longer be around to hurt with soul-sickness. It seemed so logical, Zevran. So simple._

_I didn’t know Alistair would step up before I could take the blow, I didn’t realize you were standing near enough to grab me and stop me from racing after him. I didn’t know what I had done to you. That was my folly. My fault. Alistair died when he didn’t have to, and you were wounded to this point where it made sense for all this madness to come about. I wish I could undo_

The key to her door jangled, and Myai straightened from her writing, noting the strength of the light from her window. It wasn’t time for a meal, and Hula had already cleaned for the day. That could only mean Zevran. Pushing up from her chair, she began to smile, which quickly fell away as Hula came in, her bent and aged form wobbling in distress.

“What is it?” knowing the question was useless, but the alarm on Hula’s face drove a spike of fear through Myai.

Instead of answering with words - the woman was mute after all, and couldn’t speak - Hula’s gnarled hands grasped hers, tugging her frantically towards the door. Stumbling after her, Myai followed, worried. She knew of little of what would drive the old lady to break trust with Zevran. Sniffing the air, she smelled no smoke, so there wasn’t a fire. And as they passed through the thick walled, narrow hall and through the heavy door that was held open by guards, she heard no sounds of battle. Myai didn’t notice anything as her pace picked up, trying to help Hula along who was aiming towards a different hall. Just as they neared another door, Myai heard voices. One of which was familiar. Ignacio’s voice. Breaking free of Hula’s hand, she rushed in flinging open the door. 

“...He said he was the only one who knew where it -” Ignacio was pacing in front of a bed, bandages on his bare, white haired chest. He was hale and hearty for a man of upwards of sixty years, Myai noted with a healer’s detached assessment. “ _Warden_?!”

As the Crow Master stepped towards her, Myai saw the bed’s occupant and everything else receded. “Zevran!” Diving towards the bed, her hands made passes, as she instinctively tried to draw from the Fade. Crying out when nothing came, her hands reached up, yanking on the inhibitor. “Noo! No, get this off of me!”

Ignacio’s grip was sure as he pulled her hands from about the slim collar she wore. “Warden, listen to me.”

Turning to face him fully, Myai demanded, “Someone find the damned _key_ so I can heal him!”

Behind her, Zevran lay mostly nude atop bloody sheets, his bronze skin gone grey with blood loss. Myai was shaking, ready to strangle Ignacio if he didn’t answer her promptly. She didn’t know what she would do if Zevran died still believing that she had only used him, that she had loved Alistair and not him, deeming that no one could ever think or feel those things she did. Believing that the only way he could have anything was to take it, to warp it. No, Myai would shatter to pieces if she lost him before they even tried to solve their mistakes.

“My dear, _listen_ to me,” Ignacio’s smooth Antivan accent snapped her gaze to his direction. “The barrister is here with legal documents, and until Zevran is dead they cannot be released to you.”

Glancing to the side she saw a well-heeled gentleman, a leather folio under one arm. “It is pleasant to make the acquaintance of the famed Hero of Ferelden.”

Ignacio leaned in closer to her, and she caught the scent of strong potions on his breath. “I believe the location to the key to your freedom is in those documents. Zevran succumbed to his wounds before I was able to get him to the physiker. He had intended on telling you himself where it was.”

Sliding her gaze towards Zevran then the lawyer, “Open those documents now.”

The man made a scandalized sound of protest, “I am a man of law, not even for the Hero of -”

“Ignacio, what would you charge for this man’s life?” snapping into decision mode, Myai yanked the mantle of Warden about herself, discarded for almost a year but still waiting for the moment she needed it.

The lawyer went pale beneath his dusky skin, “I can’t respond to threats, I’m under contract and oath!”

“My dear Warden, do you think it... wise to heal your jailer?” Ignacio’s voice was soft.

“Ignacio, if you have any affection for me and what I did as a Warden you’ll help me,” pinning him her gaze.

Ignacio shook his head minutely, sighing, and his hand flicked out, a blade appearing out of nowhere sprouted in the lawyer’s eye socket. With a thump the body fell, and Myai was there, tearing into the folio, passing some of the papers to Ignacio. Time was of the essence, she could smell the death in the air. Nearby Hula let out a low, mangled moan of distress, falling to the floor and crying. Hands shaking as her eyes skipped over page after page, searching for the word ‘key’ and ‘inhibitor’, Myai struggled to maintain some semblance of calm.

Suddenly Ignacio stood, dropping the papers, and went to the old slave woman, “Key - where is the key, woman?” Roughly he searched Hula, until there was a triumphant grunt. Myai felt her hair swept aside by the back of a hand, the key slipping into the lock. “Cunning _idiota_ used it for the key to your jail cell.”

As the inhibitor fell away, Myai swayed back, dizzy as mana slowly trickled into her body, her connection to the Fade restored. “Sweet Andraste!” Staggering as her vision swam drunkenly, Myai yanked with all her will for enough mana to cast a revive. Suddenly to her now life sensitive eyes, she saw that Zevran had just slipped into death, but she sensed his soul still close enough for her to pull him back to life. “Zevran, stay with me,” she crooned just before power blasted through her nerves. 

Agony ripped through her as Myai felt light blast from her very eye sockets as many months detached from the Fade had removed her finely tuned control. It hurt like when she had first summoned a spell, each channel forcefully opening to mana. But it was still a bare trickle, and other than tying Zevran to life, it did little else before the power ran out. Sinking onto the bed, Myai fought to catch her breath, her hand laying atop Zevran’s breast. It barely rose and fell, but she felt it, and it was enough.

“Someone find me some lyrium, and get that--” pointing at the corpse of the lawyer, “out of my sight. Disgusting, vile little man, he should have simply given me those papers.”

Ignacio hovered into view after ordering one of the servants to go about those duties. “I have been looking for you for months, Warden.”

Flicking a glance in his direction, “And why would that be?”

“Your sudden disappearance didn’t sit well with me, nor your friends whom I managed to get in contact with,” the old man’s voice was soft as he took in her appearance, his hand reaching out to touch the tattoos on her neck and wrists. “And I have suspected for some time that you were being held against your will. You were a good friend to my brother and I in Ferelden. And you worked tirelessly to save that country with little hope of reward. It would be... uncouth for me to not keep an eye on you in this foreign land. My daughter would have been your age, Myai. And while it is true that Crows don’t work for free, we do work for ourselves and our own interests.”

Surprised Myai shifted towards him more fully, “I came of my own free will, and while it is true, he held me here, it wasn’t without reason. It’s... complicated, Ignacio. But, thank you for your concern. I’m sorry about your daughter.”

The old Crow’s lips quirked as he gave her cheek a fatherly brush of his thumb, “Love is always complicated.”

XXX  
(Zevran)  
XXX

Awareness came in fits and starts. Tactile - soft fabric, like that of a sheet was under his hand. Making his fingers clench the fabric, Zevran rubbed it. A high thread count, the same type as his usual bedding, silk and cotton blend, and that information made him frown. Eyes gummy and dry parted with more effort. Light, diffuse and nebulous greeted his gaze, though it still hurt. Blinking slowly to work his eyes into full focus, he saw the ceiling. It was a similar one to his own bedroom in Antiva. It was odd that he would awaken in the Fade to a place that so resembled his nominal home.

Groaning faintly, he pushed himself to sit up, but only managed to raise his head. 

“Shh, stay still,” Myai’s voice came from nearby and Zevran whimpered.

“Why,” swallowing thickly and turning his head enough to see her sitting in a chair beside the bed, “why are you here?”

Her hand glowed as she reached out to touch his shoulder, and he felt the familiar flow of power soothing ravaged nerve endings. “Because Hula brought me to you and Ignacio unlocked the inhibitor.”

“I’m not dead?” Startled, Zevran made his body obey him and he scooted to sit up.

“No,” Myai leaned over him, her expression strange. “I had to tie your soul to your body, which was difficult considering the circumstances. A handful of minutes later and nothing would have worked.”

That didn’t make sense. Myai healing him came from a time when she wasn’t his prisoner. From when he wasn’t her torturer. The last time he had seen her, he had lost hold on himself and released the agony, directing it at the source. Which was counterproductive for what he had wanted. To tie her to him, to force her to love him. 

Flopping back against the pillows, Zevran closed his eyes. “For what purpose? To torture me? I no doubt deserve it. But I would think it not quite your style. Unless Ignacio is about somewhere, lurking in wait?”

“He didn’t tell me how you got wounded,” and he tensed as she didn’t exactly answer him.

“He had become convinced that I had either killed you or held you prisoner,” clenching the sheet in his fists, Zevran pushed the words out. “When it was time for a meeting on Guild tactics, he attacked. I was willing to die, but I wished to see you one last time before I did so.”

Myai sighed deeply, “And so you bargained with him?”

Nodding, “I told him that I was the only one who knew where they key to your inhibitor was.”

Zevran could practically feel the force of Myai’s magic beating on the air. It was odd that he hadn’t noticed its absence before, but now with it returned he recognized the familiar thrum. It was like an electric tang on the air with a hint of loam. Earthy and feminine musk, much like the spicy comfry and honey soap she used. He had missed it, as well as being able to be near her without it engendering a riot of emotions and pain. Back when he thought that he could trust her and when he had been no threat to her. Or had believed that he would earn at least a scrap of her accord without forcing it from her.

“I suppose that makes a great deal of sense,” the rustle of fabric as she stood came, and the soft susurration of parchment, and his mattress shifted as she sat. “Zevran, would you believe me if I told you that I wasn’t planning on torturing you?”

“Then why revive me _amora_? I see no reason that would be logical from your standpoint, and even that seems an awfully thin reason,” he wanted to look at her, wanted to take her measure, to anticipate where and when the blows would fall. “Gaining satisfaction of some sort...”

A finger came to rest over his lips. “You don’t trust me. You can’t, can you?”

Unbidden, Zevran trembled as his face turned of its own accord towards her, helpless with how bitter the words were in his mouth, “Look where that trust got us both.”

Her expression was still unreadable to him, and she straightened, pushing her hair from her face. “No, my ignorance and your past is what brought us to the impasse.” With a flick of a hand her hair was twisted up atop her head and pinned in place. Zevran had always glimpsed that weaving, hypnotic grace she had about her when her hands moved. “What you did was wrong. What I did was wrong. We both hurt each other. Now, what do we do about it?”

Zevran moved to say something, but he saw her reach for his bedside table. Held in both hands the delicate collar of the inhibitor hovered, the shining jewel and the padlock waiting to engage and strip magic away. Tensing, Zevran thought it would be fitting if she forced him to wear it, though it would do nothing to him other than force him to bear shame. Brown eyes slid to his, holding him still as she raised the necklet to her own throat and it clicked closed. Myai’s bottom lip trembled and he watched her shiver as mana was yanked from her flesh, but she snapped the padlock shut.

“What--” half sitting up, Zevran’s hands surged with minds of their own to her throat, perhaps to halt her action, perhaps to be sure of how secure the inhibitor was.

“I have no defense against you and no way to harm you,” her palm was soft against his cheek, her back ramrod straight as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Until you feel you can trust me, Zevran, I will make the first step and trust you.” In her other hand she held the key, that had gone to her door and the manacles, not just the inhibitor, right before his nose.

Shock shuddered through him and Zevran could do nothing but take the key from her hand. “And what is it you expect to happen?”

“Healing,” and he finally was able to put name to the expression: hope.

He had forgotten what that was.

Clenching the weight of the key, it felt far heavier than it was. “Myai, come to bed.”

“With clothes or without?” not exactly denying him, she folded the coverlet down, and went to snuff all but one lamp, pausing to lock the door.

“Whichever you would rather,” taking a deep breath, Zevran prayed for the strength to not simply order her. 

Myai had just _freely_ offered him something impossible. He had done nothing to earn this chance, but she had given it to him. It would be easy to merely demand what he wanted. The desire was there. But if there was even the most remote chance that he could convince Myai to stay with him of her own free will and perhaps even love him as he loved her, he could expose himself this much at least. 

In the light of the sole remaining oil lamp, he watched her shed her sari, fabric slithering to the floor, the warm glow of the oil wick made Myai’s pale skin glow. Keeping himself in check, Zevran waited as she bent with her back to him as she poured a glass of water, the fresh scent of frostrock cooled liquid reaching him. With casual grace she polished off the glass’ contents before pouring a second and turning to offer him the refilled glass. Seeing her drink reminded him of just how thirsty he was, and he accepted the cup, not quite wary, because he had seen her drink her fill from the same pitcher, the same cup. Myai slipped beneath the covers beside him as he finished his deep drink, and with careful, cautious maneuvering he set the cup beside the pitcher.

It was such a normal behavior, as though they were nothing more than a couple, that Zevran had to keep himself from grimacing. The oddest thing was that this tiny little moment was much the sort he had hoped for with Myai. Just simple, normal, little things, that two people could share. Rolling away from her long enough set the key to the inhibitor in a drawer, Zevran tensed as he felt her shift.

Swallowing when no attack, no words, no touch came, Zevran turned to face her. Myai was laying on her side, the covers pulled up to cover her breasts, and she was watching him quietly. Gingerly, wary of any move she might make, Zevran reached out to touch her cheek, stroking the swooping curve. Lashes fluttered closed and she let out a small sigh of what he took to be relief. Moving slowly, he leaned in to press his lips to hers, and shivered when she opened her mouth to him, relief of his own sweeping over him momentarily.

“Zevran?” she whispered to him. “You need rest to heal more, and I’m... the... stress of today, I’m... I’m not in such a good way either.”

“Tomorrow’s a new dawn, or so the saying goes,” he agreed. “As you wish, we will do nothing tonight.”

After the last lamp was snuffed, Myai sighed into the darkness, “I love you.”

He wasn't quite ready to believe it, but it sounded nice.

XXX  
Myai  
XXX

She awoke nestled in close to Zevran. With a start she remembered what had happened, what she had done. She had made herself numb to the Fade and that thought made her stomach queasy. At the time it had felt completely appropriate, she had been running on instinct, still sensing the death in the room, no matter Zevran’s healed flesh and the changed bedding. There had been a moment after she had saved him from the danger-zone that Myai had considered leaving and turning her back. The only problem with that was that she didn’t _want_ to leave him to suffer, because he would. Horribly. He would never move on and he would be a slave to his anguish. Frankly, so would she. Myai had tried to envision life, carrying on, and healing on her own. But, just as he had read her writings, she had read his.

Once he had returned to Antiva, Zevran had kept a journal, in it, there were accounts of what his life had _really_ been like before she knew him, mixed with threads of discontent and ideas of how he could earn her care. Slowly the threads of despair and his thoughts had twisted, further and further as he had opened the box on the monster and let it loose. He needed the power it gave him to not just throw himself futilely at the Guild. He had planned on returning to her side, at one point, to wait patiently. Other plans had involved him hovering at the edge of her life and keeping as much danger from her as possible. Eventually though, base needs had taken over as he gave in cutting a bloody swath through the Guild where the only logical thing had been for him to bring her to him. 

At the back of her neck a thumb rubbed at the collar, his voice raspy and exhausted, breaking her out of her spiralling thoughts, “You want this off.”

Tensing, Myai made herself glance up at him, his eyes were closed and he was still grey-tinged. “Yes.”

Beneath her cheek she felt the rapid fluttering of his heart pounding against his ribcage. With slow movements his arm flung out, searching the bedside table and returning with the key clenched in his hand. He was trembling, but Myai held still not wanting to push him one way or the other. Zevran would have to come to the decision on his own whether to fight the terror or not. Myai’s hair was gently brushed aside to reveal the lock which clicked softly. His breathing halted for a long moment and she closed her eyes waiting, hoping he would do something, anything, soon. 

“I’m... afraid Myai...” the words were wrenched from him with obvious force, but before she could say anything the lock was removed from the collar, and tossed away as his other hand pulled the inhibitor open.

Moaning as her Fade sense rippled, opening wide for the second time in less than a day, Myai shuddered. From head to toe Myai tingled as power filled her, faster than the day before, for it had only been hours of severance this time, while the first time it had been months. Rolling over and away from him her back arched as the Fade poured into her, filling her with buoyancy. Every small hair stood on end and lightening storms crackled in her mouth. Life energy streaming from her fingertips, body automatically casting, her hand lashed out smacking Zevarn’s chest, mana pouring into him. Beside her, Zevran strangled on a scream as the force and violence of healing at that rate slammed into him. It was that agonized cry that forced Myai to rein herself in. 

Pushing herself to sit up, her hair a curtain hanging around her shoulders and face as she looked down at Zevran. Sweat beaded his entire body, much like it had in his tortured Sloth demon inspired nightmare, as he was stretched out on the rack. The difference was the resignation and relief on his face, while in the Fade he had born the torture with a grin, his eyes flashing dangerously. After what she had read in his journal, and the answers she had gained from Ignacio, it was a wonder any Crow was remotely sane. Each man and woman was cultivated from childhood to hold a black flame in place of their hearts. A flame encased in a box that had a lid that could easily be removed to burn on through any pain and use that pain for fuel instead of breaking. Some of those flames had prettier boxes, but at root each Crow was little more than an animal in the form of a person. 

Some found a shade of humanity, and the black flame was shot through with warmth instead of the blistering determination. Ignacio’s daughter had been murdered along with his wife, because the now late Guildmaster didn’t like seeing anyone with anything other than that evil flame fueling them. She suspected that many Crows had similar pasts; whenever they found a single precious thing, it was ripped away or warped. All that only drove home how strange the Crow, assassin, Zevran, she had initially met and come to love, truly was. How rare. 

Instincts warred through her as she kept her hand pressed to his chest. She would be justified in leaving him to his eternal misery, but that would be _retribution_ and such things never did anyone any good. Not in the long run. And it went against everything she had worked so hard to become. When she had told Ignacio to kill a man just so she could hold Zevran to life, Myai had forgiven Zevran. But in the light of day that action tasted bitter. Laying there was the same body that had done evil things to her, fueled by that black flame that had found easy feeding grounds in Zevran’s wounded psyche. 

And yet his simple statement and admission of fear even as he fought past it, even for a brief instant, held the flicker of the Zevran who had found a meaning to his life while he was in Ferelden. Meaning in her. Just as she had found security, belief, faith and strength with his presence beside her in their struggle against the Blight. 

“Are you going to give in again?” Myai asked him. “Answer me Zev, are you going to give into that evilness again?”

His lashes fluttered but he wouldn’t look at her as the apple of his neck bobbed. “Not without a fight. But it doesn’t matter, you’re free. There is no forgiveness that could ever be granted, nor do I want it. There is nothing I can do to ever ease, let alone erase what I did.”

“You’re right,” agreeing, as she shifted to straddle his hips. “But are you willing to _try_?”

“Only if you will allow it,” his hands balled into fists which she watched him shove beneath his back, pinning them there with his weight. 

“And if I don’t? What will you do?” leaning down, Myai slid both her palms up to his shoulders.

Zevran sighed, releasing his air in a woosh, “Do my best. And wait until it is time for you to go to the Deep Roads and follow behind you. I won’t let them take you alive to make you into a monster. I won’t let you suffer that possible fate. It is the only duty to you I won’t relinquish, not for anything.”

Stretching along him, Myai felt his flesh stirring against her groin, but he made no move to do more than breathe shallowly. Closing her eyes, Myai tucked her head into his shoulder, wondering what she could do, what she should do. The answer wasn’t simple. Nor were her feelings. Her heart said that she should allow him the chance at penance, her mind argued to walk away. Walking away wouldn’t do either of them any good, not that she could see. It was true she would learn to live and throw herself into duty, and maybe at some point find some sort of acceptance. But it would not provide the opportunity to at least _attempt_ for them to be what they should have been. 

She would just have to take it one day at a time, as would Zevran.

The smell of his skin was still comforting, months of being his prisoner hadn’t done more than blunt the more than two years of security he had given her. Sometimes if she concentrated she could smell the sharp bite of poison lending a bitter tang to the warm, spiced perfume he naturally put out. She remembered the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on her when she had been sick so recently, and it was as though it had been _her_ Zevran beside her again. That aspect was still there, struggling against being devoured. 

Zevran’s inner beast was just like an addiction, he would always be predisposed to it and there would be the threat of it. And yet he didn’t want to be that, he wanted to fight for something worthwhile. He wanted to be a person once more, not just the animal in a man’s form. Myai wanted that too in all actuality. They would have eternity in the Fade, but he had to earn it, not just to appease her, but for himself. 

Kissing the side of his neck, Myai worked her way to the corner of his jaw. Zevran shuddered once before each muscle forcefully went lax. She wasn’t fooled into thinking he was relaxed, because she could feel the reckless hammering of his pulse against the heel of her palm where it pressed to his neck. Myai nudged his chin, turning his face towards hers, and she kissed his lips with all the tenderness she could muster. A tendon jumped in his jaw against her palm, as Zevran clenched his teeth, losing a breath when she pulled back.

Chewing her bottom lip, Myai met his finally open eyes. “I told you that I wanted to see if we could salvage something.”

“Myai, I... please,” remorse, shame, and pain shone out at her. “There is nothing I can do, and I know it. You do too. I may want it, pray for it, but we both know that there’s too much risk.”

“Zevran, I am hurt, I am angry, so are you. We’ll have to simply take it one day at a time. Can you trust that I’m making my own decision on this?” tracing a fingertip over his finely winged eyebrow.

Zevran licked his lips, “I don’t understand how you can come to that decision.”

“I know what you are, I know what I am, and I know that we should at least try to be what we should have been,” running the back of her hand over his cheek. “You want to try, don’t you?”

“Want and should aren’t the same thing _amora_ ,” voice cracking. “But if you allow me to, I will, until my last breath and beyond.”

Kissing him once more, “Then that’s enough, and we will try.”

There was a broken sob, and she felt his arms lurch under him, but he didn’t wrench them from beneath his back. Shushing him, Myai rocked back, wrapping her hands around his biceps and freeing his arms from their self imposed prison. Zevran looked like he was about to be ill, but Myai lay over him again, pulling his arm around her waist and lay her head back on his shoulder. This was what she had wanted for so long, for eternity it seemed like. It wasn’t the best circumstance, but it still was what it was. For a long time they lay like that, holding tight to each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
Zevran  
XXX

For well over three weeks he orbited Myai, careful, watchful. Zevran was afraid to be alone in a room with her, terrified he would sink once more. But he didn’t. And Myai was patient with him, though sometimes she flinched if he moved too fast, or didn’t make noise when behind her. Each time that happened he would apologize and rapidly back away, shame wracking him, leaving him physically spent. He had debated giving her things, tokens of apology, but Ignacio, who had refused to leave - much to Zevran’s relief - had cautioned him against such an action.

Ignacio had told him it was common behavior, as though he were seeking to buy forgiveness. Zevran was grateful to the old Crow, both for nearly killing him and his advice. Sometimes how the old _shemlen_ doted on Myai made his hackles rise, but that emotion was viciously smothered, because if it weren’t for Ignacio, Myai would still be a prisoner. His presence gave Zevran a sense of security - if he got out of line, Ignacio would kill him without thought, without hesitation. Myai might hesitate and Zevran couldn’t bear that thought, so it was best to have one on hand who had no such qualms. 

But at night, Myai would slip into bed beside him, and they would hold each other close. The inhibitor sat on the bedstand on his side of the bed, a glaring reminder, and it also gave Zevran the sense that at any moment he could sink and control Myai and keep her from hurting him. Yet its purpose was dual, as it reminded him to remain cautious, to fight the monster that wished to lock Myai away from any and all eyes other than his. 

He felt no pride for having not slipped even once in three weeks. Zevran _did_ feel relief though. It was a start. When he had first met Myai that beast had been there, snapping and waiting, and the urge had been great to target her as she was the leader of the group, a healer, and ignorant of the world, aware of how easy it would be to manipulate her. But each time, in the beginning, that he had planned on it, something stayed his hand. The man he had become in Ferelden was a _man_ , and not a Crow. All that had been tossed aside when he returned to Antiva, _needing_ that creature to achieve the goal of cutting a bloody swath through the Crow Masters, aiming for the Guildmaster, who had rescinded the approval to ignore the contract on Myai. It was a struggle to keep the monster under lock and key, so it wasn’t just Myai he watched carefully, but himself.

Entering the atrium garden, that was heated by silvered glass shining on the plants, giving them light, and the pool heated under the ground to give the atrium a hothouse quality, he spied Myai laughing with Ignacio. His stomach lurched, and his hands trembled, but he was almost used to it, and smothered the instinctive snarl. It was obvious that the Crow Master doted upon Myai like a father, which was something he knew she had never had. Neither had Zevran, but at least he had some form of surrogate mothers with the whores.

Myai was the fist to notice him, pausing in her laughter to meet his gaze, the light in her eyes cooling just a fraction. It was little things like that that made Zevran thankful - she was punishing him like he deserved. However, that cooling went away quickly as she stood and held her hands out to him. She was at least consciously making choices, ones he didn’t force her to, and he was stupidly grateful for that too. It meant he hadn’t broken her, cracked her certainly, hurt her, and damaged her - yes. Having broken or destroyed, he had somehow avoided doing that to her.

Taking her hands, Zevran stepped up slowly, the smile on his face was delicate, almost brittle but without the sharp edge. “ _Amora_ , I came to tell you and Ignacio that dinner is nearly ready.”

Myai’s stomach gurgled, and she twitched, mock glowering down at it, “Aie, Warden appetite. Why is it that every time I think I’m not hungry and someone mentions food, the damn thing acts up?”

“It’s a good thing you are the Guildmaster,” Ignacio said from his seat. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to keep food in her belly, and I would be the one left footing the bill.”

Zevran’s answering smile was wan, “Hmm, yes, a good thing.”

Myai squeezed his hands, stepping in closer and his body thrummed with her proximity. “Ignacio, I wanted to have a word with Zevran, if you please?”

Ignacio raised a brow, then bowed deeply, “Then I will have my meal sent to my room.”

They stood like that, Zevran dared not move other than to breathe. Finally he could no longer hold still and he turned his head to the side, eyes closing. He hadn’t been _staring_ at Myai, only looking, but it was too much. Being around her was like someone was constantly peeling his skin from his bones, and while Zevran knew that was an acceptable route towards a shade of atonement, he was still a mere mortal. It made him retreat from time to time. 

“You were gone a long time today,” Myai’s voice was soft, soothing, and yet it stabbed at his head, leaving bloodless wounds. “Why do you leave so frequently? Where do you go?”

Giving a whole body twitch, Zevran glanced towards the back of the house, “Sometimes I need to think, and to be alone.”

Warmth flowed from Myai’s hand into him, her instinctive casting of healing energy whenever she sensed pain did not act benignly for him any longer. But he wasn’t going to tell her how whenever she poured her mana into him that it was more of an horrifying experience, when once it had been soothing and cleansing. Such a comfort belonged to a monster-turned man, before the monster had taken over again. Once, not so long ago really, but it was more like a lifetime to Zevran, he had told her that when she would touch him with the kiss of mana it made him feel pleasant - clean in actuality - and from that time on she had made a point to do so as often as possible. He hadn’t told her that after becoming the monster, it had become painful.

“Zevran,” she paused a moment, and he watched the play of thoughts across her face. “Zevran is there anything you need me to do?”

Raising their entwined hands to his mouth, he kissed the back of each of her hands reverently. “No _amora_ , it is something I must handle on my own. But, thank you for offering, it means more than I can express.”

XXX

A lightening storm crackled in his mouth as Myai kissed him and Zevran lay back doing nothing more than holding her about her tattooed waist. It felt wonderful and terrible in the same breath, primarily the knowledge that she still _wanted_ to kiss him, to touch him, kept him strong enough to tolerate that gentle caress that left burning damnation in its wake. Most nights they would share these small caresses, never venturing far, except last night when Myai had reached down to run her hand along his length. He had almost howled at the pain that should have been pleasure, however Zevran had made himself lay back and accept her exploration, as he struggled to maintain his non-threatening bearing. It was what was right, it was what she needed and deserved.

The smell of her becoming aroused filled his head, and Zevran groaned at war with hunger and fear. He was glad she didn’t suspect his agony, otherwise she would stop, and he wasn’t sure what good that would do for her. None that was worthwhile. So he tolerated his pain with as much grace and steadiness as he could summon up, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip to suck on it, her moan the only music he could hear. 

“Zevran, please,” her voice breathy, the heat of her sex blazing where she straddled his thigh. 

A growl bubbled up as he dipped his face to her shoulder turning the bite his body demanded he give, into a sucking kiss. “Anything you want _amora_ , anything...”

Her hand wormed beneath his waistband, her thumb circling his tip and sliding his sheath down as she gripped him. “Can we...?”

Tucking his face into the side of her throat, Zevran hid his face, not wanting her to see how much it hurt. “Anything, anything at all, yes.”

Whether the pain stemmed from the bittersweet knowledge that he could have had this long ago, with none of the fear or anguish of what had done, or if it came from the monstrosity being strangled inside him, Zevran wasn’t sure. He didn’t particularly care, so long as he kept himself in check and continued to treat Myai with love and gentleness, as he should have always done. Myai was unwilling to lash out at him, Zevran could understand it logically - it would only sully her. But that didn’t mean the part of him that loved her wasn’t capable of lashing out at _himself_. And it did so with a vengeance, turning each loving yet hesitant touch of her skin to any of his, into this blazing pain. 

She rocked back from where she sat her hands pausing at his shirt before tugging it up and away. Smiling for her when she checked his expression, Zevran squeezed her hips in encouragement. He couldn’t restrain the gasp that came when she laved her tongue over his nipple, but at least she would take it positively. 

Tucking his chin down so he could kiss her temple, Zevran ran his palms over her skirt covered thighs. “Myai, I want... may I?”

Myai scooted along his leg, leaning against his shoulders, and raised herself up. Lounging against the divan, Zevran slowly pushed the hem of her skirt up, brushing her inner thighs with his thumbs. Giving her pleasure was the only thing that didn’t hurt, which he had found out that morning after he had awoken to hearing her holding back whimpers as she touched herself while held in the circle of his arms. When he had urged her on with his voice she had taken his hand and guided it to her sex, and he had stroked her flower under her direction. It was the only time he hadn’t felt the tearing and ripping of nerves when in her proximity. Cupping her womanhood now, Zevran petted her gently, focusing on how soft she was there and ignoring the pain of her licking and suckling his ear. 

Slickness coated his fingers as he parted her lips, relief welled up - she still wanted him, she wasn’t _always_ terrified, she felt safe enough to let him do this. His eyes rolled open and he looked over her shoulder at the bed, and he knew the inhibitor was there, Zevran could feel it staring at him balefully, and the beast inside snarled at the cage he was building around it, demanding he lock Myai away, so her touches didn’t hurt. Ignoring it with a monumental effort of will, Zevran slipped his fingers along Myai’s ridge, pressing his face into her chest seeking out her breast, his other hand holding her steady at the small of her back. 

Nails bit his shoulder as Myai moaned, arching, one hand going back to his member and rubbing it through the material of his trews. Releasing a harsh groan, Zevran held back the pained whine that wanted to work free. With a slight shift, Myai straddled both his legs, pushing his pants down to free his cock, her slim hands wrapping about him. Tossing his head back, Zevran gritted his teeth, a hand flailing to clench the divan’s back, as his fingers remained busy pleasuring her. The increasing pace of rippling muscles along his digits heralded Myai’s orgasm. For a moment he went numb, the pain utterly absent, but then it came crashing back as Myai squeezed him, stroking his manhood as she sought to give him the same as he had just given her.

Catching his breath, Zevran bit his lip, grimacing as his body acted in the natural way, the orgasm leaving nothing but anguish in its path as he spilled in her hands. Collapsing back against the divan’s pillows, Zevran kept the sob from escaping, panting as Myai stretched along him, her ear pressing to his chest. Swallowing several times, Zevran collected his frenziedly scattered wits.

“Can we go to bed now?” Myai mumbled, kissing his chest several times.

Zevran sat up, pausing before gathering her up in his arms, cautious and wary of causing her any damage. “Of course _querida_.” 

Carefully he sat her on the edge of the bed, kneeling to help divest her of her dress. Mana flowed into him as Myai caressed his face as he loosened the stays and pulled the fabric free of Myai’s body. Rising slowly, Zevran let her push his trews down and he kicked them aside, moving to crawl across the bed to his side. 

Once he was situated, Myai rolled into him, “It’s been more than a year now, did you notice?”

Blinking, Zevran had to search to find the meaning to her query. A year and a day ago Alistair had died, along with the Archdemon. Eleven months ago he started on the path to depravity. Shuddering, he draped his forearm over his eyes, fist clenching. If he could do one thing it would be to go back in time and tell Myai that he loved her before the madness had a chance to take hold. Perhaps then he would not have harmed her. This was the first time since he released the inhibitor himself that either of them had brought up the past. 

“No, I hadn’t,” admittedly. “I try not to focus on that part of the past.”

Myai traced one of his myriad tattoos, frowning slightly. “I won’t say that I don’t think about it, but we - not you, not me - can’t dwell on it. We have to focus on moving forward, or we won’t get anywhere.”

Nodding, Zevran agreed. “No, you most certainly shouldn’t.”

He, on the other hand, must. Zevran wouldn’t tell her that. But he had to, to see every strike he had landed on her skin, every bruise he had left, every inch of pain he inflicted. For dual purposes. To punish himself for his ills, and to make himself feel every inch of remorse he could squeeze out, and use it to build a cage for the monster so it could never, ever break free again. He had to _earn_ this chance Myai had given him, or at least try to, though nothing could ever be done to fully atone. 

“Zevran, you shouldn’t either,” her voice cutting through to his core, sadness and admonishment in it. “We can’t move forward if either of us is chaining ourselves to pain. What good does it do?”

Turning his head to look at her, stroking the apple of her cheek, his lips quirked. “So wise, so good you are _amora_. I bow to your knowledge.”

She was right, but Zevran couldn’t let the pain go, he needed it.

Myai’s lids fluttered at the light caress. “Zev, I need to be with you. I want to. Show me that it’s safe, that you won’t hurt me, and that you still want me.”

Rolling to prop up on his elbow, Zevran cupped her face. “I want you, I need you, Myai. And I will do everything in my power, and outside of it to show you that I’ll never hurt you again.”

“You will though,” she sighed. 

A slightly confused frown twisted his mouth. “I will what?”

“Hurt me,” brown eyes opened to hold him paralyzed. “And I’ll hurt you. People hurt each other, but it’s what they do with it that matters. I just know you won’t ever hurt me the way you had. But shh,” as Zevran began pulling back, she caught his hand, Myai’s fingers moving to press against his lips. “Shh, little hurts are normal, Zevran. And we have time to work with that. But right now, I just... Just show me. Be with me.”

Steeling himself, Zevran wanted to deny what Myai said, but instead did as she requested. Leaning in he caught her mouth with his, shifting to hover over her partially, his weight balanced on an elbow, his free hand brushing over her crown. Pain and tenderness took control and Zevran gave himself over to it. Every sigh spurred him on, down a path from her neck to each shoulder, laying kisses to each patch of skin. Black lotus, deathroot, spiders and drakes twined their way along her alabaster skin, and Zevran kissed and licked those, as if he could wipe them, and the poison they represented, away. Scooting down, paying gentle attention to every inch, and on down to her thighs and farther. At her feet, Zevran stopped, picking up one high arched foot, massaging it and kissing the top of it. Myai let out a sweet giggle, and he found a smile coming to his face, making him feel momentarily lighter. He took his time rediscovering every nook and cranny of Myai’s body, pouring every ounce of love into each touch, worshipping Myai the way he had prayed so long to have the chance to.

Warm hands, radiating power and healing reached for his shoulders, pulling him up her body, and Zevran shook. He knew she was trying to show him the same love and courtesy he was giving to her, but it _hurt_. Nerve endings crackled and hissed as her palms swept over his arms to his back, while her legs wrapped around his hips. Moaning brokenly, Zevran rubbed his thick length over her sex, only able to hang on to the moment because of Myai’s contented sigh. Licking the sensitive line of cartilage to the fine point of her ear, Zevran pressed near her entrance, but couldn’t bring himself to enter her body. 

Myai hugged him close, her cheek rubbing against his, “Please Zevran, show me...”

Pulling back so that he could press his forehead to hers, shaking with the force of his trepidation, “Myai, help me. Please.”

Fingers wrapped around his cock, guiding him in. Wet heat enveloped his crown, scalding him bare. Swallowing thickly, Zevran worked himself in slowly, focusing on the way Myai bit her lip, her arms and legs holding him close, bolstering his flagging reserves of strength. Slowly, gently, and fiercely Zevran took her, desperate to give Myai what she needed and wanted and deserved in all ways. With a cry, her walls clenched around him as she peaked, saying his name in a stuttering wail. It was that more than anything that drove him over the edge. Immolated in the blast, Zevran brokenly sobbed her name, tears leaking from his tightly shut lids. 

After they lay there for some time, embracing, and Zevran had regathered himself, he slipped from the bed. 

Myai sat up, a worried tilt to her head. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, Zevran squatted beside the unlit fireplace, working flint and steel to build a fire. “I have to do something, _amora mia_.”

Bare feet smacked the rugs lightly as she came to stand beside him, a palm pressing to his shoulder. “Talk to me Zevran, what are you doing?”

Watching the flames lick the wood as the fire was born anew, “Something I should have done awhile ago.” Moving to grab the inhibitor, key, and padlock, Zevran pried the stone free, smashing it with the iron coal rake, scooping up the dust and throwing it to the flames. “I am doing it now, while I can.”

Beside him, Myai knelt, stilling his hand from tossing the key in after the remnants of the inhibitor and the lock, “Keep this then.”

“What for _amora_? It is... it is a sick trophy, and should be destroyed,” clutching the key in his hand so tightly that its teeth gouged the meat of his palm.

Myai pulled at each of his digits, exposing the silverite key. For a moment she stared long and hard at it, before she nodded decisively. “It’s the key to my fate. To my prison. It isn’t yours to dispose of.”

“I see,” rocking back on his heels and Zevran _did_ see. “Yes, it is yours,” holding it out to her, waiting for her to take it.

She sucked in a deep breath, chewing her bottom lip. “Next year. Not right now, next year we’ll see where we are, and how I am, and how you are. Next year, if I’m ready, I’ll melt it into so much slag.”

XXX  
Myai  
XXX

Ignacio walked along beside her, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. The flowers were beginning to bloom in earnest, and many days the sun would do much more than peek from the clouds, actually shining for a few hours. At such times Myai would race outside, wanting to bask in the outdoors. The old Crow Master was frequently her companion during these times, as Zevran often disappeared for hours, needing time to be alone. If it was merely work related reasons for his not being there, Myai knew she would be able to find him in his office. However, there were usually hours during the day when he was neither there or in her company, which meant he had sequestered himself away.

Ignacio’s company was welcome, and surprisingly pleasant. “Your thoughts are long and deep, my dear.”

Casting her gaze upwards, she saw him watching her with gentle concern in his blue eyes. “I... I worry.”

“Hmm, that is to be expected, surely,” dry, warm and callused fingers patted her hand. “I am here if you wish to talk about it. Perhaps I can give insights? Or merely a willing ear.”

Smiling at his thoughtfulness, she wondered how she could have ever thought Ignacio despicable or threatening. Even though she also remembered the speed at which a blade had flown from his hand into another man’s eye-socket, that person seemed very far distant from this fatherly gentleman. His presence and friendship were a balm, providing patience and a steadiness that made her wonder at some of the similarities between her ‘old’ Zevran and the _shemlen_ Crow.

Hugging his arm, Myai turned her face towards the main building. “How is it that a person can recover from such a thing? Sometimes everything feels normal, others I’m wary and I see the tightness at the corners of his eyes...”

“Might I ask how it is that you see his actions?” they resumed pacing the garden slowly, the sunlight glowing in the moisture heavy air. 

“It was like an illness, that’s how I look at it most days, and that’s what I hang onto when I become uncomfortable,” tapping her chin with her finger. “There was no contagion that I could see, but there have been some treatise that I have read about personality changes that can occur when someone has been put through many physical harms and great stresses.”

“And those who are ill need help. I take it, is your stance on this matter?” a brow quirked as he seemed to mull it over.

Nodding, Myai slipped her arm from his to lean over one of the flowering bushes to cup a flower and breathe deeply of its perfume. “They need help, not punishment. And yet...”

“Gaining the distance to handle it is no small feat,” Ignacio readily agreed. 

Linking her arm with his once more, Myai sighed. “How were you able to gain distance yourself?”

“From what?” puzzlement on his features.

“From who murdered your family,” she clarified. Then suddenly realizing how rude that question was, she blushed furiously, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so impertinent, Ignacio for-”

He interrupted her with a gentle pat, shushing her. “My dear, it has been twenty-three years. it still pains me, yes, however I have had to learn to live with it.” Ignacio was quiet for some time before he continued. “Truth be told, I can gain no true distance, as I have to live with that person, that animal, every day.”

Pulling him to a stop, Myai’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“My brother heard tell that the former Guildmaster Yago, had planned on ordering me to bring my wife and daughter before him, and kill them in... a typically creative, Crow fashion,” he released a heavy sigh. 

Covering her mouth in shock, Myai stared up at him. “Sweet Andraste... You mean... you...”

Ignacio couldn’t meet her horrified expression and instead turning to stare out at the copse of trees that ringed the estate. “I was perhaps Zevran’s age when I heard this. I had been purchased by the Guild when I was six; Cesear was four. Three and a half decades of training later it was all threatened by the fact that I loved a woman and married her. Crows are not forbidden relationships Myai. But we are not allowed to value them more than our ties to the House of Crows.” A hand ran over his balding pate, his broad shoulders slumping. “You must understand that each of us is not truly a person any longer. It is stripped away so that we can be cold and effective at what we do. Crows who find too much humanity are a threat, because we are likely to seek a path away from the Guild. And we are expensive tools, whose ultimate use is for the protection of Antiva. The Guild can ill afford the cost of losing any of us.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she reached out grasping his hand and squeezing it, allowing the channel of healing to open, wishing to soothe some of his heavy and old pain. “And so they are ordered to... to destroy their links to humanity?”

“It depends on the era, the Guildmaster in charge, the potential for a spread of such a ‘disease’ to other Crows,” Ignacio squeezed her hand in return. “Yago was one of the worst in recent memory. Under most circumstances such things are merely ordered put to an end, and the threats sent away, held hostage to some degree. Or they are killed quickly. No reason to risk angering the targeted Crow so much that madness spreads and they turn their skills and contacts upon the House. Yago was not of that mindset. He reveled in torture, and frequently had the Crow killed as well, even though that caused a very high turnover. His reasoning was supposedly that a Crow cracked by gaining humanity was no longer useful for anything other than sport.” 

“You couldn’t send them away? You couldn’t flee?” Myai struggled to come to grips with this information.

Blue, mournful eyes swung towards her, and he shook his head once. “The arms of the House of Crows are long. There is nowhere anyone can go that they cannot be found. The only mercy I could give my wife, Ania and... Juline...she had just learned to walk. She was a bright and happy child, Myai. Filled with giggles and wonder at everything. Ania was graceful and the light of my world. I knew that if I made it appear as though I was being merciful that there would be more blood spilt and paid. With Juline I could act as though her being so tiny caused her death to be rapid. Ania I could not give the same. All I could do was dose her with a strong draught, so that she didn’t feel what I did. Then I had to present their mutilated corpses to Yago.” 

Myai wanted to jerk her hand away from Ignacio’s, to run away. Because she couldn’t fathom a life that dark where any of that was logical. And yet, she knew it was. So instead of running, she reached out and hugged him, crying.

Ignacio twitched, and right then it was almost like he was Zevran, with that recoil at any comfort given. “If I didn’t do that, Cesear and his lover, our parents that we had managed to find, all of my young apprentices... they would have all paid. So, I had to prove that I was ‘apologetic’ for breaking ranks.” There was a cautious pat to the back of her head, and she heard Ignacio’s heart stutter to a halt as though it had gone weak, so Myai sent tendrils of power into his chest and kept it beating. “Is it no wonder that Zevran went mad after having to release his training in full force? But the real miracle, Myai, is that he has managed to fight it, in spite of how far he sank. Even though I am leery to leave you alone in his presence, seeing you with him is almost like seeing Ania and Juline again, working towards a chance that I did not have.” He pushed her away gently, giving her a light shake as he stared her deep in the eyes. “What he did was wrong. What I did was wrong. There is nothing that can ever be done to make amends. It is up to you to decide what _you_ need. I can’t tell you, he can’t tell you, only you can. But as long as I am alive, I will stand by your decisions.” A light, fatherly kiss was pressed to her forehead. “I like to think that if Juline had been able to have her mother’s ears, she would look just like you.”

Pushing forward, Myai hugged him again, fiercely. “If I knew my father, I don’t doubt he wouldn’t be half as wonderful as you.”

XXX

She found him in her old room, laying atop the table and staring at the ceiling as though he were some fresh sacrifice for that bloody altar. Standing in the doorway, Myai was hesitant to enter, seeing how his hands clenched around the wooden edges, his legs crossed. He radiated tension, and she wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking. Every time she reached out for his lifethread, she saw it as a tangled mess, twisting over and over itself, some parts dark, others brilliant. 

“Myai, please, I need to be alone,” he finally spoke after she had stood there watching him stare blindly for many long minutes.

“And I need to hold you right now,” making herself take the first full step into the room. “Did you know that Ignacio killed his wife and daughter?”

That made him startle and he sat up, hands wrapping over his knees. “He had a family?”

“Yago made him kill them,” pacing closer slowly. “It was horrible, what he told me.”

A black look came over his face and Zevran began to stand, his head swinging towards the main body of the hacienda. “ _Braska_ , if he has upset you--”

Close enough to touch him, Myai held him in place, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “He gave me a lot to think about. But I have a question and I want you to answer me truthfully.”

She watched him blink several times in surprise. “I will do my best.”

“If one of your Crows formed a relationship, a bond with someone, what would you do?” Measuring every flicker over his face, with more than just her worldly senses, Myai waited, barely daring to breathe.

“Why should I do anything?” Genuine confusion swept over his expression. “So long as they are able to do their jobs, why interfere?”

“You wouldn’t make their loved ones be sent away or killed?” moving closer still, emboldened.

The scoff of utter disgust Zevran made lightened her heart immensely. “Why should I do such a thing? Firstly it is unnecessary, secondly it is cruel, thirdly if the ties to these hypothetical loved ones were great enough, it would only result in one heavily angered Crow who could turn on the Guild in a flash. It is the last that the Crow Masters would accept as a reasonable piece of logic, only having to look at _my_ rise to see its veracity.”

A smile burst free on her face, and Myai surged forward hugging him tightly, relieved. “Thank you.” In her arms she felt him tense and she kissed his chest once, trying to pour her care for him, her happiness that he wasn’t truly cruel at heart, into that single gesture. “Can I just hold you a little longer? Just for a moment, please?”

The tension in his shoulders bled out and she felt Zevran’s lips ghost over her crown. “Your wish, _amora_.”

XXX

As much as Zevran was present in her life, Myai sensed his distance. Oddly it was that more than anything that made her cool and worry. As though he was afraid to be around her, of what he might do. How could she trust him, if he couldn’t trust himself? Even so, she did see marked improvement, it would take months, but each day was a triumph. And while she still flinched if he came up too quietly, or if his voice turned sharp over something, even though it was usually just annoyance over work and directed at someone else in the room, Myai herself was doing better too. When she looked at Zevran, she didn’t see rage or harm, only his jitters and slow recovery. Sometimes _she_ needed distance as well and would play games of strategy with Ignacio or walk with him. 

Zevran’s lifethread was still tangled, but the worst snarls and knots were easing, and Myai heartened from that. Every opportunity to touch him, she took, pouring healing into him. While her talent was geared towards physical healing, she remembered how he had once said it made him feel ‘pleasant’. Looking back, she now picked up what he had meant: that it had made him feel clean. Ignacio had offered similar sentiments and so she did the same for him and even little old Hula had benefited, her deafness receding and the crippling arthritis in her joints easing. 

Paddling about the large indoor bath that Zevran had shown her, Myai bobbed about, letting the water sooth her. Like the gardens and the library, the bath had become another sanctuary where she spent much time. On the shallow side of the pool, her lover lounged on the steps, a glass of iced juice in one hand. She liked having him near, but not too near, when she was like this, particularly because she could still sense his disquiet. And yet, the only way to handle it was head on. 

There was a splash, which she knew was a courtesy, and she rolled over to see Zevran exiting the bathing pool, water sheeting down from his shoulders as he surged from the bath, forgoing the steps he had been resting on. Kicking close to the edge she leaned folded arms against the marble lip, watching him towel off, the thick woven black cotton contrasting against his bronze skin. It never failed, seeing him move like that always left her a little dry mouthed and moist, because Zevran moved so sleek and sure, his only hesitations showing when he was touching her. 

“Are you leaving so soon?” asking him trying to hide her disappointment, because in all actuality she did enjoy his company, so long as she could maintain the necessary distinction in her mind between man and monster.

He sat on one of the benches and looked over the plate of fruits, bits of sausage and chunks of cheese, as though they were very important. “I thought perhaps you wished me to... you seemed uncomfortable with my proximity, and I’ve no wish to invade.”

Propping her chin on her folded arms, Myai let her lower body float, feet kicking making small waves. “I was just thinking, that’s all, I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”

“No _querida_ , you never make me feel unwanted,” the piercing gold of his eyes settled on her, troubled yet soft. “Quite the opposite. Perhaps I am over-cautious.”

Holding out a dripping hand to him, Myai beckoned him close. “It’s appreciated, but I think you should ask me next time if you’re making me uncomfortable, instead of just assuming.”

Wet hair clung to his cheeks, blackened gold and honey against the glimmering bronze of his flesh as he ducked his head. “I think we may be at an impasse on that Myai. If I were to ask, you would deny it, and then it would appear that I am seeking your attentions and reassurances that my presence is welcome even when it is not.”

Chewing her lip, Myai sighed. “Come here, please? It’s easier to see you when I’m touching you.”

“As you wish,” there was a flash over Zevran’s expression, and she was worried that she might have not identified it properly, for it seemed very much like terror. 

Once he was situated on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water, Myai shifted and flowed to rest between his legs, her cheek on one muscular thigh, her hands splayed over his stomach. She could feel every inch of corded muscle and she smiled as his feet waving in the water brushed against her hips gently, tickling lightly. Opening herself up, blowing the channel wide, Myai tugged at the skein that was his lifethread, trying to work at the knots that blocked the inner flame of his heart. There was a peculiar quality to Zevran’s pathways that was confusing, for every nerve was wrapped up and connected to the lifethread as well as to the fuel that was the flame of his soul and heart. This made Myai wonder if it were possible that she was discovering - or rediscovering - a new form of healing. One where mana and focus could be used, along with the willpower of the receiver, to ease damage to the soul. It bore thinking about.

Sighing in satisfaction once she was sure she had plucked a few threads looser, Myai withdrew the amount of power to a low thrum. “There. Now, tell me what’s wrong. I know something is, you’ve been strange all day. I know we’re not at the point where we’re ‘normal’ but you can at least _talk_ to me when something is bothering you, you know.”

“And will you do the same?” the look he turned on her pained and curious. “I am here for you as well, Myai. And I can do you no good with my presence if you do not bend my ear as well.”

Licking her lip before chewing on it again, only stopping because of the gentle press of his thumb over the abused flesh, Myai thought about it. “If I go first, you promise to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I will tell you because you asked me to, _amora mia_ , not as a trade. Yet I feel I can do nothing for you as a lover or friend if my ears are not made use of in turn.” And she tried not to giggle because it was inappropriate. The way his ears would wiggle, more than hers ever did, when he was being expressive always made her want to giggle, particularly when paired with his soulful expression. “Shall I make you laugh? And would it be acceptable? I... I can no longer remember how Myai. How to make you laugh. How to make you smile, and yet you do. It is as if my skills with dialogue have fled, and I am left tongue-tied with only apologies able to come from my lips. I am leery of every action I take, and how it will appear to you. The simplest of things makes me stumble as though I have no co-ordination left.”

“Is that really what bothers you?” The plush cloth of the towel was soaking up the water from her upper body, and Myai rubbed her face into his leg briefly. “If it is, then isn’t it ironic that that’s what I’ve been thinking about?”

Zevran’s surprise was apparent. “What do you mean? If you’ve some idea of how I can better heal the damage to you, please, don’t keep it from me. I would do anything you require.”

Shaking her head, Myai scooted from the pool’s lip, slipping further in the water, her hands sliding down and along his calves to his ankles and hanging on, kicking to stay fully afloat. “Nothing like that, that’s not what I mean. I have the same problem with you. Do you know how I look at... at last year?”

“No... I... I try not to...” his hands curled into fists and he looked away, grimacing. “I can only imagine that if you think about it, that you see the monstrosity that I bear so close beneath the surface. It is... it is an unpleasant thought, and thinking about what you might see... Myai, I can’t. I can’t think about it too closely. Not here, not in the same space with you.”

Using his legs to pull herself back to his lap, Myai reached up, straining to touch his cheek. “Zevran... I’ll be honest, I haven’t fully made peace with your actions. However, I see it as a long illness. That’s what I think of it, overall. Your mind and heart were sick, and still are. That’s what madness is, it’s a sickness. Some people with it can never get better. Some people who _want_ to get better, even with help, can’t. But there are some who want to, who have help, who work hard on it, and they can get better. At least a little bit and probably more than a little. I think you’re in the latter group. I think that we can get better together if we help each other.”

Trying to copy his earlier move of thrusting up out of the water, Myai floundered and splashed back only to have her shoulders caught firmly. The strength of the grip gave her a momentary flash of fear, while she was blinded by water, but she was quickly levered up and into a towel clad lap. As soon as that was done, the hold went lax, and only remained to keep her balanced. Panting Myai glowered down at her scraped palms.

Before she could send a bolt of power into the pinked skin, Zevran was cradling each in his hands, leaning down so he could kiss them in turn, then blowing cool air over the stinging. “You have to kick off of the wall or the floor of the pool for that to work, _amora_ , the strength in your arms and back isn’t sufficient. Tchk, still a bit graceless, and there’s no rock for you to blame this time,” the words softened by a faint snort, almost a chuckle.

It was completely worth it, the unintended discomfort vanishing at that small sound. It had been so long since she heard his voice easy under any circumstance, and tinged with amusement was something she had thought long since gone, never to return. Or...well, not return any time soon. Not until he let go and could trust himself. Leaning her shoulder into his chest, Myai sat there, enveloped in his arms, feeling easier than she had in a _very_ long time. 

“Zevran?” mumbling as his heart beat thrummed against her ear, making her relaxed and vaguely drowsy.

“Mmm? Bedtime?” at the burr of his voice, she realized he had been rocking side to side, very slowly, as though he were trying to ease her into sleep.

Straightening in his embrace, Myai craned her neck to catch a glimpse of his expression. Zevran’s lids were shut, his head canted to one side, one ear pricked as though he could hear some faint song. He looked peaceful, something she had wanted to see for so long. Reaching back, Myai cupped his cheek tenderly, noting how the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled at the light touch. 

“Yes, please take me to bed,” murmuring as she leaned up to press her mouth to the corner of his full lips. “Take me to bed and make me yours again.”

A light tremor ran through him, and his hold on her shifted, muscles bunching and pulling. How Zevran did it, she wasn’t entirely sure. Despite the fact that rising from their position should have been supremely awkward, he rose with fluid grace and not once did she fear he might drop her. He paused long enough for her to grab a towel to drape over her nudity and carried her through the halls of the hacienda, the few guards unobtrusive and the servants mostly done with their work of the day, leaving no one to see them. Curling an arm around his shoulders, Myai rested her face against his neck, kissing his throbbing vein every few steps. 

In their room, she was set down gently and Zevran proceeded to dry her off, as she ran her hands over any expanse of his skin she could reach. The brush of lips on her knee was sweet and ticklish when he squatted to rub the remaining moisture from her calves. Myai stretched, rolling up onto her toes when Zevran stood, his hands slipping over the backs of her legs, up her buttocks, to the small of her back. Closed lids fluttered open as she realized that Zevran was staring at her, making her blush faintly. They were no strangers to each other, but the fact was Myai was shy and wary sometimes. She couldn’t help it. But the honest warmth in his poured lemon gold eyes, and the care it implied, affected her as strongly as his looks of long ago. Once they had been like that and to see the same expression return made her heart flutter. 

“You’re so tense, my dear Warden,” callused fingertips glided up and down her spine, soothing and hypnotic, just like his familiar words. 

Unable to stop the giggle, Myai stepped back, tugging on his wrists to pull him along to their bed. “I know what I need, and it’s not a horse.”

“Oh? Would you care to enlighten me, _amora_?” brow quirked.

Her smile broadened as she bounced back on the bed, rolling onto her stomach, hugging a pillow under her chest. “An Antivan massage.”

There was an amused snort before the bed dipped. “I had forgotten that particular answer.”

Some time later, once she was utterly limp and relaxed, the work of his skillful hands smoothing away any tension in her legs and back, Myai moaned thrusting her hips back towards him. Long, kneading fingers worked on her buttocks with a firm languidness, and she had to bite her lip to keep a whimper from breaking free. Not once since Zevran had almost died, and she had been freed, had they done anything sexually that was similar to what they had done during her captivity. However, she felt herself tingling with arousal and Myai also wanted to show Zevran that he could relax at least a little bit. She wanted him to let go, even if it was just a tiny amount, to show them _both_ that he could pull back before doing any harm.

Pushing up to her knees, Myai slid a hand between her thighs, reaching as far back as she could reach, and stroked the circle of muscle, dipping a finger in. “Please, _Maestro_?”

Behind her she sensed Zevran going still and felt more than heard his sharp intake of breath. “Myai...”

If he was going to say anything, Myai never found out because instead of speaking his tongue ran over the back of her knuckles. Slow licking stroked around her entrance, making her sigh, relaxing into the act. Oil from the massage was traced along the pucker before she was worked open gradually, with more delicateness than she had ever been shown before. Clenching her eyes closed, she hung onto how slow he was moving, and how gentle each touch was, and while it didn’t erase remembered pain, it did keep her from tensing when she felt him draping himself over her back, and guiding himself in. Forearms framed her shoulders, and the gradual lovemaking left her feeling surrounded by Zevran, not just filled by him. His weight sank down on her after he released with a harsh groan, enveloping her fully in his embrace. Eventually she had to deal with the loss of his weight and the sensation of him being inside her, but once more Zevran showed her how unlike he had been versus how he was now.

Long, soothing caresses moved over her, head to toe, and when he rolled her over, Myai was only mildly surprised when Zevran began kissing and licking her sex, bringing her over once more. As he made his way up her body, Myai wrapped herself around him, and moaned when she tasted her juices over his lips. Brushing her fingers over his cheeks, Myai smiled up at him, watching how dark his eyes had gone, rewarding his restraint and care the only way she knew how.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Chapter 7  
Zevran  
XXX

Zevran had waited until Myai was asleep, curled up with both of her hands wrapped about one of his, before rolling to sprawl on his back. When she had called him _Maestro_ , her _master_ once more, it had nearly broken his control, proving just how tenuous his hold was on himself. That had spurred him to action and goaded him to leave two notes, one for her and one for Ignacio. And then, he had done the most difficult thing in his entire life: he left.

It had been hell to leave Myai, to not tell her what he was thinking, but he couldn’t risk her telling him that it would be alright. That he would be able to control himself. Zevran had one fear in life that fueled his every action since Myai had finally thrown off his yoke. To lose control and hurt her in any fashion. He knew he still had cracks and chinks that the beast could use to work its way through. Zevran couldn’t, wouldn’t ever allow that to happen. For something so simple as that to have tested his control so mightily frightened him and left him only one clear choice. 

Perhaps it was for the best, because without him near Myai could find something more normal. Something _healthier_ than remaining bound to him. It was what he should have done in the first place, however Myai had needed and deserved him to attempt to find a path they could walk together. He had failed at it, and so it was for the best that he left. His note made it clear that he loved her, and the why of his leaving, so he hoped. Zevran prayed she would understand and accept it.

Of course at first she had looked for him, that much he knew. But he was Guildmaster, and while he had to remain in Antiva, he could still remain hidden from her. There were a few close calls, where she had almost stumbled upon him, but Zevran had escaped before Myai could be threatened by his presence. Eventually she would understand, eventually she would accept it.

It took six months before he slipped up.

XXX

The crackle and sting of magic holding him immobile stung. Zevran had almost forgotten what it was like to have the taste and burn of Myai’s magic on him. He had failed yet again.

Myai’s beautiful countenance was hard, one hand outstretched, fingers splayed. “No, I don’t think so Zev. You can’t get away that easily, we need to talk.”

Closing his eyes, Zevran stopped fighting against her power. “As you wish, for I am yours.”

There was an angry huff, before he was pushed down onto a chair in his current office. “If you’re mine, then why did you run off?”

“It was for your own good,” the answer easy, however he wasn’t sure if she believed him, so he continued, “My control slipped. You were in danger. So, I left instead of risking your safety.”

“That’s what your note said, all five lines of it, but I don’t know how you can expect me to believe that.” He noted her hair was shorter and she was nearly gaunt again, where she was at an almost healthy weight when he left. “At first, I thought you meant you needed a few days. So I waited. But then when you didn’t return, what do you suppose I thought?”

Biting his tongue, Zevran shook his head, unwilling to hazard a guess. However he knew from reports given to him by Ignacio that Myai had become frantic, then worked steadily towards anger. The Crow Master’s reports were rather scathing and no less than Zevran deserved. But he held fast - it was for Myai’s own protection.

Myai paced, circling his chair several times, her fists clenching and unclenching. “Well? What do you think I believed?”

“I don’t know,” Zevran murmured as the sensation of spell wrought restraint faded. 

“You can be so mellow-dramatic! You’re a _man_ , not some... some... _boy_ seeking attention!” Myai stomped with admirable anger, hands on her hips and leaning in ‘til they were nose to nose. “You _should_ have talked to me. You _should_ have contacted me, and you _should not have hidden_ , scurrying around as though I was some demon hunting you down! And to have forced Ignacio to collusion in this angst-ridden game, it’s... it’s beneath you.”

Holding himself still in spite of the fact that he was no longer bound by Myai’s magic, Zevran sighed. “That would be true, _amora_ if I had planned or hoped on being found. And I see that Ignacio broke trust with me anyway, for you are here, are you not?”

Myai surprised him by straddling his lap, hands burying themselves in his hair so she could force him to look her in the face. “Ignacio didn’t do anything. I found you myself.” She must have seen his curiosity and confusion, for she explained, “Your dreams. Nightmares actually, but they pulled at me. Zevran, you and I are far too entwined for there to be any sort of easy separation.”

“You think leaving was _easy_?” Blinking, startled, Zevran frowned.

“How should I know? You didn’t tell me anything.” Myai shook her head at him, her expression barely softening. “You _owe_ me at least that much.”

Ducking his head in shame as he felt his face color, Zevran shuddered. “I owe you much more than that Myai. But I have to keep you safe, and that includes from myself. There has been too much done by me that was, and still is, damaging to you. Myai, if I could spare you anything in this world, I would. Without thought, and no care for the burden or my personal pain.”

“Then _trust_ me, Zevran. Because I want you, need you in my life. I have chased you all over Antiva, through alleys and small towns. Do you think I would do that if I wasn’t aware of the risks?” He could taste the comfry and a faint hint of coffee wafting from Myai, and it was a struggle to remain still, for all he wished to do was lean in and press his nose into her neck. “Trust me to hear your feelings, your fears, and to _help_ you find your way past the tangles. And I’ll trust you too. I’ll trust and believe that you’ll hear me and hold me when I need it, and to step back when I need _that_. Space? If you need that, you can have it, but you have to come back!”

A tremor ran down to his hands, and he had to ball them into tight fists to hang on. “I was slipping Myai. I still am, feeling you so near... I...”

“You what?” Thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, no longer stinging, just as they had stopped that last night. It was what he needed, what he deserved - for her touch to bring pain. And it had stopped, leaving him bereft of that constant, slapping, torturous reminder. “What do you want Zevran?”

Licking his lips, Zevran dared giving in, at least a little. “To hold you. To make you mine.”

Brown eyes went soft, fingers sliding down to trace his jaw. “Then hold me, because I am yours, just as you are mine.”

With trepidation, Zevran cautiously wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her close. Myai let out a soft sound, not quite a sigh, but almost. The relief poured off of her, and Zevran flinched as she wound herself about him, her cheek pressing to his shoulder. Myai was right, he _did_ owe her. Zevran owed Myai _everything_ , from his love, to his very life, to his penance. He breathed only because of her benevolence, time and again. It only left him one thing to do, and so he gave up everything and gave in, deciding to trust her judgement, for he had proved how poor his was. 

Swallowing thickly, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck, Zevran finally agreed, but with one important stipulation. “If I ever prove that I am still an animal, Myai, you must either make me leave or kill me.”

“Only if you swear that you won’t give up the fight,” her breath puffed into his hair as she spoke, warming his scalp as the air stirred the strands.

XXX  
Epilogue  
Zevran  
XXX

The way some of the other Wardens would hover around her as she directed them made him feel... uncomfortable. The desire was there at those times to tell her to step away from her duties as the Warden Commander of Antiva. But he couldn't do that, not because he was incapable, but because he never wished to have that shadow over them again, or to sink into that pit where he had given in to the monster. Instead he made himself wait until she had a free moment before going to her side.

 _"Amora?"_ popping his head around the door.

Myai glanced up at him from setting her seal to parchment, "Hmm _querido_?"

It made him feel wrong for having that desire, and it frightened him sometimes when he would make himself go to her side. But he wouldn't give in, not ever again. Not for anything. So, he made himself go to her side and kneel on the floor beside her chair, his hands on her armrest.

" _Amora_ , I.... I find myself in need, may I ask you to hold me for a moment?" such a request felt foolish, that five years later he still walked on eggshells. But it wasn't just to keep Myai happy or safe or with him that he did it. He did it because he wanted to. Because he needed to do this.

Myai's expression turned soft and her hand cupped his cheek, "Of course _querido_."

As he lay his head on her lap, with her fingers smoothing through his hair, Zevran let the blanket of security cover him. He was safe, she was safe, they were healing. The work on their lives and healing was ongoing, but it was still going. Many days he forgot, and was merely content, finding a bliss in the simple things, in the day to day business of the Guild and the Wardens. But sometimes he felt the snapping and snarling beast whispering to him that Myai would lash out and hurt him, waiting for a lull in his attention. Those times he would go straight to his wife and sink as soon as he could into that warm, gentle touch. His only pain was when he feared loss of control or when he looked back at what he had done wrong with his life, and the manner in which he had hurt the woman he loved. But he fought for her, for their daughter and son, to show them how a man should be, how a man should treat a woman.

XXX  
Myai  
XXX

She didn’t forget, not ever. It would haunt her for the rest of her life, but Myai knew that it was getting better. To live with the very man whose hands she had suffered under, to sleep beside him, to watch him play with the products of their loins, was at times almost too much to bear. When she gave birth to their son, the shock and horror of the memories had returned in full, any blunting of time and work wearing off during those long hours. However, Zevran had stood firm, weathering her terrorized screams of pain and resurfaced anguish, even as he whispered soothingly, massaging the agonized muscles of her sides and back. Every touch had been cautious and gentle - both to her and to Medorid. And when it was time for her to bring Zamianna into the world, the fear had dissipated.

So, Myai may not ever forget, but she had long since forgiven. Zevran never once asked for it, no doubt believing he hadn’t earned or deserved it. But the pervasive devotion and love he sent her way went a vast distance to repairing her. And that made Myai feel peace, and gave her strength to weather the occasional nightmare, which was usually spillover from him. 

When he had run away, fleeing her for her own ‘safety’, Myai had found him in the Fade. The torture and agony he suffered in his dreams were the final thing, showing Myai just how much he loathed every single thing he had ever done to her. His nightmares were reenactments of those months under his control, in gory detail, and added experiences that hadn’t happened, filling in years worth of potential endings to their stories. The worst were when the beast had taken over and he wound up killing her, and he sat as some spider in the center of a web, casting death with every plucked strand. Zevran’s nightmares were the lodestone that had drawn her to him during that time when he had fled like a frightened little boy, to suffer alone and in the dark, rather than risk showing her how close the abyss was. 

Zamianna began fussing, but Zevran lay a forestalling hand on Myai’s shoulder. “I will get her, you rest, _querida_.”

Gratefully Myai relaxed for more than one reason, sinking back into her large chair. “She’s probably hungry.”

Shortly Zevran returned, Zamianna tucked over his shoulder, rubbing her back while jiggling her up and down, even as their fussy daughter chewed at his tattooed skin. “As usual you are correct, _amora_.” The beatific smile on his face as he handed off Zamianna after wiping drool from her chubby cheeks, was beautiful. “I wonder what color her eyes will settle into...”

Swirling irises met Myai’s as her child latched on, pulling strongly at her nipple, already Zamianna’s eyes had gone from blue-black to brown, and now the colors shifted constantly, like there were tiny storms held in those orbs. “Who knows what future they see? The world in Medorid’s eyes is always new and bright. We can only hope that she sees the same.”

A delicate kiss was pressed to a small fist, and then Zevran pressed his mouth to hers, and Myai sighed into the taste of tea on his tongue. “And you, _amora_ , make my world anew and bright.”

No, she probably would never fully forget, however, when Zevran looked at her like _this_ , she did forget for the moment everything outside of their life, their world, and was whole.


End file.
